


Book Two: The Hunter Between

by BurneHazard



Series: The Demon Hunter [2]
Category: Diablo III
Genre: Angst, BDSM, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurneHazard/pseuds/BurneHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When not even the Prime Evil could kill the Nephalem, what is a Demon Hunter to do? At least the Scoundrel has a plan...sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return to Caldeum

**Author's Note:**

> STOP! If you have NOT read the first story, "The Hunter and the Templar", I highly recommend you stop now and go do so! This is a continuation of blurbs and side-tales transpiring in the span of time between Diablo's demise and the Reaper of Souls expansion. Given there is no game-play, this work is a lot more free and open than the first in the Demon Hunter series.

            "Mama! Mama! Stop the wagon! There's someone in the way!" the little girl's voice cried.

            The woman that had been nearly dozing in the shade of a canopy resting over the wagon's driver seat jerked her head up. Her hands tightened reflexively on the reins leading to the massive beast pulling her wagon over the sands. Protesting the sudden pull on the bit and harness, the beast groaned but slowed and gradually brought the wagon to a stop. The little girl sitting behind the board protecting the floor of the foot space popped her head up to stare at the two in the road.

            Even in the blinding sun it was hard to miss them. One was clearly a man from the broad shoulders, wide stance, and mustache upon his face. His white shirt was open down his chest and sweat was glistening on his skin, darkening brown hair. He had a pack hanging off one shoulder. The other person was leaning against his other shoulder. It was difficult to tell their gender because they were wearing black armor and were slumped. Had the man not had one of the armored arms across his shoulders and his arm around the person's waist, they would not have been upright.

            "Please, miss, my friend needs some help. Our horses were lost in a lucani ambush and the heat's finally overwhelmed her. I swear we mean no harm!"

            Warily, the woman looked the two over. She did not miss the fact both were visibly armed with crossbows and partially depleted quivers, but there was no mistaking the way the body he held sagged with head falling in a boneless manner. Living in hot places made her very familiar with that particular look. Hesitating, it was the girl who made the decision when she stood up with a gasp.

            "That's her, mama! That's the demon hunter that saved Caldeum--and Tristram!"

            "Are you sure?" the mother asked.

            "I recognize him too. He was traveling with her. And he owes me money!"

            The man looked surprised but he said nothing. Instead he gave the woman a charming grin when she looked back to him.

            "And, Squirt, I said I would pay you back. I can do that now, plus whatever you need. Just please, help my friend! She's still healing."

            That caught the mother's attention as she gave the wagon's break a firm kick to lock it in place. Looping the reins around the hitch on the foot board, she grabbed her skirts and rose to climb down the side of the wagon.

            "Bring her around here then, sir. Let's get her into the shade. Honey, get the water."

            Moving forward, it was clear the hunter was not completely senseless. Her legs did move although they were utterly uncoordinated. Thankfully the man did not seem to have too much trouble helping her move around into the shadow of the wagon where it was slightly cooler. Easing her down, he knelt as her weight slid away from him. He was quick to catch her when she almost fell over--even as she moved sluggish arms to try and correct herself.

            Leaning her back against the wagon wheel, the man reached up to pull the wrap of dark greenish black further up over the woman's head. Only then did the mother realize she was not seeing the woman's face but a very beautifully crafted mask so life-like it had fooled her for a moment. One of the hunter's hands rose to push the man's hands away when he started to draw the mask and headdress off. Then the man turned to look to the wagon driver.

            "Now, my dear, you might want to have Squirt...get a place ready for her in your wagon. She isn't up to walking in this heat."

            About to protest, the woman caught the man's eye. Even if his smile was charming and he seemed quite carefree, something in his look was enough to make her change her mind on her protests. That and the hunter sagged forward into his waiting arms as a harsh coughing fit gripped her. He reached down to unfasten the straps on her pack, helping her to shrug it off her back.

            "I heard, mama. I'll get things sorted so she'll be comfy!" the girl said as she scrambled up.

            Only when certain the girl was occupied did the hunter lift her head. Nodding, she let her arms fall. The man reached up to unfasten the mask and lower it. He blocked immediate view of what rested beneath until the thing was off. Taking the water skin, he lifted it to the hunter's lips so she could drink. In the process, the mother finally saw what rested beneath the mask and gasped in shock and horror. Swallowing hard, she tried to meet the hunter's eyes instead. They were watching her but there was a noticeable glaze to them.

            "Well," the woman began then hesitated and quietly offered the water skin. "Where are you two headed?"

            The hunter's eyes closed as she gingerly licked the raw red burns of her lips. It was her friend who answered as he tilted the skin to give her a little more. "We're trying to reach the nearest outpost. But I'd thought perhaps we'd stop by an oasis near here. There's a man who lives there that might be able to help us before we go on to Caldeum."

            "In her condition?"

            "Yes," came a voice so rough and tired it made both of them flinch to hear it. "In my condition. I will heal. My task waits."

            The hunter's companion gave the mother a suffering look but she could see that despite it, he was determined. He took the water skin after the hunter finished wetting parched lips and took a drink before handing it back to the mother.

            "The man we seek is an apothecary we encountered last time through here. And, thank you, miss."

            "Don't you 'miss' me, sir. You have two eyes not yet burnt by the sun and you're calm enough not to be crazy." Apparently the woman had regained herself. "Now, my daughter and I are actually heading for an oasis nearby. You'll travel with us and see if he can't do anything."

            Squirt popped up, "But mama, you said we--"

            "Our jaunt can wait. Besides, you did say this gentleman owed you money?"

            "Yes!"

            The woman nodded as the man in question helped the hunter secure the mask since the little girl was coming around into view.

            "Then he can simply pay you when we arrive, dear. Now, let's get our friend into the wagon."

            "Thank you," came the painful voice from the hunter.

            "Oh, and please forgive me for not making proper introductions! My name is Lyndon, and this is Shandra."

            Squirt blinked as her mother and the scoundrel helped the hunter to rise. "I thought I heard you call her 'Killa' in camp."

            "That...was to remember...sister," the hunter grated as her head fell forward and she went utterly limp between the two.

            Grunting, Lyndon shifted and after a moment of struggling, managed to get her mostly lifted into his arms with the help of the wagon mistress. Together, they carried her around and managed to get her into the wagon with the little girl's help. Soon, the wagon was moving on as Lyndon and Squirt walked with it, settling matters of business.


	2. Apothecary?

            Waking slowly, the very first thing she knew was that she was in a soft bed. The covers were soft and cool when she did manage to move a little bit. It was when she moved that she realized there was no pain. Her eyes opened to focus very slowly. There was a ceiling over her head and for a few moments she was at a loss. The last thing she had known was the wagon on the road then being lifted and moved. Pain had spiked and she had felt herself fall.

            "You're awake," came a voice.

            Shandra slowly turned her head toward the source. Partially tensing for anticipated pain, she was surprised when it did not come. Focusing sleep-blurred eyes, she frowned. It was difficult to keep concentrating when her mind itself was rather fuzzy. Only, it did not feel like a normal sleep. Lack of pain aside, there was something off with how it felt to try and move her body. Both arms and legs were stiff and felt far heavier than they should.

            "How are you feeling?"

            The one speaking was a man in robes the style of the desert peoples. He was near a window that he was opening to let a little more light into the room. And that was when she noticed it was not an actual room but the entire interior. The house was just one room with a few curtains spread over the walls. Not that large, but it would certainly be comfortable for one to live in.

            "...sluggish," she finally answered after a few moments of just looking around. "Where am I?"

            "My home. Well, one of them. Lyndon practically dragged you in here."

            "Where is he?" Shandra asked as she slowly tried to push herself up in the bed.

            Her host was there as she managed to struggle up a little to recline against the pillows. A cup was offered. She did not attempt to take it, nor did she refuse his help when he held it to her lips to drink. It smelled of very bitter herbs but was rather smooth. A hint of sweetness like honey helped her to down it. That and she was thirsty.

            "I sent him out after some more plant leaves. He should be back soon."

            When the cup was drawn away, she relaxed and looked back to the man. Only then did the face click in her memory.

            "The apothecary we helped out."

            "Ah, good. Your memory hasn't suffered the way your body has. I was a little concerned about possibly addled wits. Given your condition, I had to dose you very heavily to keep you asleep while the medicines worked."

            He turned away to busy himself with something. She had no energy to be even the slightest bit curious. Her curiosity was for herself. Gaze falling, she slowly pushed back the light sheet covering her. Bandages of a strange sort were loosely wound about her torso and shoulder, reaching along her burned arm. None bore any hint of pink or so much as a stain of excess liquid. Rather than mess with them, she slowly moved her bad leg out from beneath the covers.

            There were no bandages around her leg. As she very slowly bent her knee, there was a familiar pull of hard skin. Reaching down, she brushed her fingers over her knee then ran them over the area she knew was injured. Rough skin met her fingertips. Her leg tensed at the nearly painful sensation of the touch. But aside from that, no bleeding, no fire, no pain beyond that incredible sensitivity. Her eyes confirmed this much when the apothecary returned with a light in hand.

            "Careful now. We've been able to heal you pretty well. Lyndon mentioned something about accelerated healing and from what I've seen, I believe him. The burns were very bad however. Even healed, you'll be...well, extremely sensitive in those areas for the rest of your life."

            "I'd wondered why it didn't hurt," she admitted as she very lightly ran her fingers over the scars on her thigh.

            "You've managed to heal in one week what it would take anyone else months or years to overcome. I must say, I'm quite impressed."

            That caught her attention as she looked back to him. He was busy studying her leg in the light however, not touching but lips moving as if he were talking to himself. Bringing her bandaged arm up, she narrowed her eyes at it thoughtfully.

            "Just...how long was I out again?"

            "A little over a week."

            That made Shandra jerk slightly. Frowning, she regarded the apothecary warily. "You kept me in a drugged sleep for over a week?"

            "No," the man said, apparently oblivious to the possible danger in her still-rough voice. "Only the first two days. Afterward, nothing could wake you. And some of what your friend and I had to do to help you should have."

            Relaxing again at that, she debated pulling the bandage off her arm. Then, something else occurred to her.

            "If my leg is mostly healed, what of the rest?"

            "Well, even I'm not a miracle-worker. The worst of the burns were to your body. I decided to bandage you not merely for modesty, but to protect those areas. You became restless a few days ago and nearly undid your own body's work. I had to dose you again yesterday to make sure you slept through the last two treatments. And it worked."

            Glaring at the man, she paused only long enough to make sure she did have something on beneath the covers other than bandages. Once that was ascertained, she pushed the sheet back and struggled to sit up. Although he stepped back, when it was clear she was having trouble, he reached out to help her sit up and lean back against the wall the bed rested against. Even that exertion made sweat form and her breathing come faster.

            "I don't feel anything on my face," she said when she had caught her breath.

            "I had to let it breathe sometime," he said a little tersely.

            Turning away, he moved to a table beneath a bunch of high shelves and rummaged around. Various clinks, clanks, and rustles filled the space for a few moments. Finding the object of his search, he returned to offer her a small hand mirror. Staring at it, she found herself loathe to reach for it. After a moment however, she did and drew it around to look at herself.

            Shandra stared at her reflection in surprise. The skin was no longer a mess of red, white, purple, and other disgusting colors. Although still red, the color was that of an intense sunburn rather than raw muscle. White was scattered through it but with a more fleshy tone to it. She was no fool. The still-healing injury was a horrible sight and would form equally horrible scars when fully healed. As it was, she was simply thankful it did look better.

            "The salves worked better on your extremities and face than they did on your body. Compresses were used on those. And the herbal soaks did far more than I'd hoped..."

            He continued to ramble on as she tuned him out. Just studying her face, she looked more for any overly exposed spots rather than focusing on the way the damage would make her look in the future. A few spots looked as if they might need careful tending but they were small. Tilting the mirror, she aimed it along her neck where one injury that had not been a burn rested. The slice across the left of her throat was fully healed.

            Noise at the door broke her from her intense study of her injuries. Looking up, she had to blink a few times to make her eyes focus on the distant thing. The apothecary went to open it. Lyndon entered with an armload of spiny leaves wrapped in torn sackcloth. He wore just a sleeveless shirt and his arms and face bore multiple small scratches. He had a few stray leaves in his hair...and oddly, he was a very welcome sight.

            Relaxing as the scoundrel handed his burden over to the apothecary, she set the mirror aside. Lyndon rubbed his hands along his arms and moved toward her. He looked at her and a smile bloomed across his face. It was so unexpected that it made her eyes widen. A moment later, she remembered the past week--or was it weeks now?--they had been together. Every other time he had to look at her would be brief and with pain or something else she had never cared to identify.

            This time, all she could see was relief, happiness--and a warmth in his eyes she had not thought to see again. It was all she had time to take in before he had her wrapped in a tight hug. He was careful where he touched though.

            "Shandra! It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

            Almost slowly, she brought her arms up to return his hug. Her embrace was hardly as strong or as long however since her arms simply gave out. Withdrawing, he took care to lean her back against the wall before releasing her completely. Straightening, he again rubbed at his arms.

            "Groggy. And apparently, you're to blame for it."

            "Well, that's just what happens when you're too stubborn and wake before the kiss."

            Blinking, she stared at him blankly.

            Lyndon was still grinning even as he turned to head for a bucket with a rag draped over the side of it. "Don't pretend you don't know the story."

            "I just woke up, Lyndon," she growled.

            "And if you'd just have waited a little longer, you could have woken to me kissing you. Just like in the stories."

            Then she caught onto what he was alluding to. The moment she realized, his grin grew as he turned to take the cloth and start rinsing his arms off. Unfortunately for him, Shandra had more will power than was healthy. The pillow she threw caught him full on the back and made him jump in surprise. He knocked over the bucket, effectively spilling it over his body and the floor.

            It was worth falling onto her side on the bed when the throw overbalanced her weakened body. Laughing softly despite the uncomfortable pull of her injuries, Shandra had to admit, she felt rather good. More than good. It had been so long living and moving in endless, burning pain for those few weeks that the complete absence of it was almost...heaven. For now, a little weakness seemed a small price to pay.

            "And even slowed by beauteous sleep, the lady doth wound me!" Lyndon said dramatically.

            The result was Shandra collapsing into more snickers as she lay there. Cleaning himself and his mess up, the scoundrel dried his pants as best as he could and moved to where the apothecary was working with the leaves he had brought back.

            "This should be the last batch I need. That strange holy water you had will make this salve quite strong. It should last you as long as you'll require," the man was saying.

            "Good. But I honestly don't know if you're underestimating or overestimating something."

            Lyndon moved back over as the hunter pulled herself together enough to roll more onto her side. Reaching out, he tugged the sheets back and free before offering her a hand up. Taking it without protest, Shandra managed to sit back up and draw herself closer to the edge of the bed. Letting her legs down, she sat for a moment to clear her head and find her balance. Rising slowly, she caught Lyndon's offered arm and took the support to stay on her feet.

            "Let's get you over to the table. I'm sure you're hungry," the thief said.

            His answer rose in an audible growl from her stomach. It earned a dark look from Shandra and a cough of laughter from Lyndon. And she found his good humor was infectious. Too much so, but she was not going to question it. Right now, a little rest and lightheartedness was precisely what she needed to let go of the last month and start regaining her focus. Once she could stand on her own feet however, the hunt would resume.


	3. A Hunter Darkening

            Lyndon had not returned. That was the only reason she was not in a comfortable, clean, cool bed sound asleep. That was the only reason she was walking slowly through the alleys in the lower level slums. That was the only reason she was hunting. A guard had reported seeing a man fitting his description enter a tavern that did not have the best of reputations. It had sounded like something that the scoundrel would feel more at home within. Her only remaining question was why he was hours overdue. That was not like him.

            As she moved along the quiet streets, she took in Caldeum's deep night. It was chilly. Even surrounded by sunbaked stone, the chill was present. The only saving grace was that heat rose. The level they were staying on was in the middle range of hot and cold so it would be a pleasant night. Once she found Lyndon, she could enjoy it. If she found him. What little direction she had certainly did not give her much of a trail. And tracking someone through a city was vastly different than tracking them through the wilderness. The wild was easier.

            Shandra took a page from Lyndon's book however. He had told enough stories and she knew enough about the greedy nature of people to know that information could be had for coin. Unless she wished to use more time-consuming methods. A couple of tips from some street urchins and a merchant led her deeper into the start of the slums. One of the taverns was open and apparently lively. Rather than bother with the customers--looking the people over for a sign of her quarry--she went straight to the barkeep.

            Waving away the empty cup he put in front of her, she braced her good arm against the bar and leaned forward. Rubbing his hands on a stained rag, the man glanced around and leaned in as well when he saw the faint shine of the lights on the coins protected by her curled hand.

            "I'm looking for someone. About my height, middle-aged, brown hair and eyes, long mustache. Wearing a long brown leather coat."

            Her fingers tapped lightly over the coins as she watched the man. Finally, she moved her hand away so he could take a few of the coins. He did so only to have her hand fall to stop him from taking the rest still half-cupped under her palm. She glared right into his eyes and tilted her head so the mask covering her face glared as well.

            "He's a scoundrel with women."

            "Yeah, seen 'im. Flirtin' with my wenches. Left with a couple a friends they said."

            Turning her head slightly, she considered. "Friends. Man and woman?"

            The tender's eyes fell to the new coin on the bar. Shaking his head, he grunted.

            "Nope. Two men. Friends of yours?"

            "Depends, what did they look like?"

            She let him take the smaller coins, relaxing her hand. He gathered them up, glancing to the last coin on the bar. That one he left for the moment although it was clear he wanted it as well.

            "Kinda like you. Taller, dangerous. Smelled a helluva lot worse. Armed too, but with blades and clubs. Armor not so fancy."

            Another coin was slowly placed on the bar near the other as she glared at the tender. She asked nothing else but the man's tongue was clearly loosened as he looked back at her. His eyes swept the bar before he ducked even closer, voice lowering.

            "Look, if yer a bounty hunter, this one ain't a hunt you wanna get tangled up in. The guys that he left with are the sort I've seen before. Bruisers that work for a guild. Guilds'r bad news ta get on the wrong side of."

            "I'm aware. How long ago did they leave?"

            "Hour or so."

            "They mention where they were going?"

            The tender looked toward the front doors for a moment before shaking his head. "No. But doubt they went that far. Couple streets down, near a sewer hole, there's a place known for accidents. Lotsa stuff gets through that old grate."

            "I'm sure," she said as she straightened.

            A calloused hand swept up the coins on the bar as he scrubbed the spot with his rag. Turning, she headed for the door without paying the crowd a second glance. Eyes did follow her with a sensation of something crawling against the back of her neck. Choosing to ignore it, she left the tavern to return to the night. The sensation faded then was gone the moment she was a step away from the door.

            Moving along the street, the hunter paused to look around. The path opened to the right and remained open for about two hundred feet before buildings resumed lining that side of the stone. Heading for the break in buildings, she looked over the edge. Another street below with buildings around it. This part of the city followed the natural cliff-face more than the constructed areas. Poorer people could not afford the price of building streets and breaking rock to form new ground.

            Calculating the distance, she boosted herself over the crude brick-wood railing meant more to warn of a drop than to prevent it. Looking down, she placed one foot near the edge then slowly pivoted and dropped. The landing jolted her weakened body sharply enough to make her gasp. It hurt but the pain itself was gone as suddenly as he had come. Straightening, Shandra rose from her crouch to cross the roof she had landed on.

            It was easier dropping down to the street since she knew what to expect. And this street was far worse than the one just above. Stone was broken, trash was visible strewn about in broken pots and vessels. Pieces of carts and other debris were left to rot in corners, shoved out of the way of the main traffic. The smell that came to her beneath her mask made her nose wrinkle and the healing skin burn slightly from the motion.

            Fewer people were out. Those who were kept close to doorways or walls. These were the street-wise sorts who knew to keep their backs to the wall and eyes on everything else. They watched her unless she turned her attention toward them. Most were wise enough to turn away and remain turned away. Her own attention was moving around as she listened and focused on the strange sense of pressure against her chest and shoulder.

            After a few blocks with the stench increasing, she came upon a very rusty grate set into an actual cobble-stone area of the ground. Many of the bars were broken, twisted downward with only a couple rising up in silent threat. Regarding it, she paused to look at the buildings. Oddly, no one was nearby. In fact, as she turned to study them, the buildings were conspicuously shuttered despite the still-cool air available.

            Then she heard it. A grunt that should not have been there. Bending her knees, she slid into a crouch and moved toward the sound. The first few steps made her bad leg burn in protest and pulled at the scarred skin. It only took Shandra a moment to adapt to the differences as she moved like a shadow along the wall and into the buildings. More grunts. And as she moved, she started to hear the sound of flesh striking flesh.

            Coming to the mouth of a narrow alley, she narrowed her eyes. It took her a few moments before her vision could pierce the shadow to bring shapes into view. A lot of junk lined the alley's mouth but it widened a little more after a few steps. The source of the sound was revealed by a dim light at the far end. Moving forward, she picked out distinct silhouettes between her and the illumination. Three of them. One man on his knees, arms held by the other two standing to either side. They were holding him up for another man to hit.

            One hand crept down to grasp the crossbow folded in place against her thigh. Drawing it free quietly, the hunter used her burned hand to help it unfold slowly rather than make a sound. The source of light was a little to one side of the thugs, letting her see the front of the man using the kneeling one for a punching bag. And their kneeling victim was wearing a familiar coat. The light caught on the particular design of the armor over his shoulders to tell her precisely who the unlucky man was.

            As the man facing the three straightened to draw his arm back again, the dim light of the poor lantern off to the side shimmered off something on his fist. It hardly took a genius to know the thug had metal there. That snapped something inside faster than anything she had previously experienced. The hunter's hand came up so fast all she was aware of was the belated kick in her palm as the quarrel flew. By that time, it had already buried itself deep into the thug's chest on the inside of his shoulder.

            He flew backward even as her arm flew up to strike her own shoulder from the force. The kick also rendered her hand numb for a split second. It was enough for her to lose her grip on the crossbow. It fell from her grasp. Letting it go, she drew the other crossbow with her bad hand. Need for stealth abated, she snapped it into place and loosed another arrow straight into the side of the thug on her right. It struck him between his lower ribs since her aim was still off, but it buried itself deep. The jolt of pain through healing wounds made her eyes flare with anger.

            The other thug was just beginning to react when she twisted her body to drive her good fist straight into his face. Cartilage and bone crunched satisfyingly as the sharp protrusions over her armored knuckles broke flesh. Blood splattered as the thug went down hard. Without the support of his two captors, Lyndon started to fall. Her arm dropped as she fired another bolt point-blank into mister broken-nose's body. It drove into his side, striking his hipbone and giving him something other than his face to keep him occupied.

            Hooking the crossbow to her belt where she could grab it quickly, the hunter leaned down to pull the sagging figure of the scoundrel up. When she did, he made a pained sound. His nearly dead-weight fell forward over her arm and forced her to adjust her hold as she tried to cushion him from collapsing completely. One thing she did not expect was the sound he made sending a nearly-forgotten jolt straight through her body. It electrified her senses and caused her injuries to throb in an unfamiliar way. Unconsciously, her arm tightened across his torso and apparently pressed against one of the larger injuries as he moaned in pain.

            Shandra gasped and fell to one knee at the power making her entire body tingle and throb. For that instant, she lost herself and forgot where she was really at. In that moment, she was in the smoldering depths of a hell-bound crater with the agonized music of tormented giants moaning around her. The same sensation that she had been lost within there again claimed her as she drew at it. Her injuries burned anew only to begin tingling before she could even sense the pain she had been nearly without for several days.

            Blood on her tongue snapped her back to the present. Eyes opening, she went rigid as she realized she had grabbed Lyndon's hair and wrenched his head back to kiss his split lips and bleeding mouth. It was his blood on her tongue, his pained moans filling her ears. Feeble struggles against her body clued her in that she was still kneeling but had drawn him fully against her armored form. All of it was taken in before her heart could skip a beat.

            Tearing herself back and away from the kiss, she turned her head away from the scoundrel. Refusing to look at him or even acknowledge the fact he sagged toward her of his own volition, she fixed her attention on the three that had been beating him bloody. One would not rise again thanks to the black quarrel that had done enough damage to be lethal. The other with the black bolt protruding from his shoulder was still where he fell, trying to break the feathered shaft off. The one with the broken nose was too wrapped up in trying to breathe around his own blood and work on the arrow imbedded in his hip to try getting away.

            "...my hero," a distorted voice rose from near her chest.

            Glancing down at the scoundrel, she rolled her eyes out of habit. But Lyndon was already pulling himself together again and supporting a little more of his own weight. The golden mask rested face-down near his knees. She chose to leave it there for the moment.

            "Can you stand, Lyndon?"

            "C'n try," he mumbled.

            Although he did try, the best he could do was sit up on his own and move to lean against one of the alley walls. It was good enough for her. Free to use her hands again, she rose and turned toward the one that had been making a mess of the scoundrel's face. Stepping toward the thug, she leaned down to run her fingers along her calf. The dagger hidden within the boot was drawn free to fit easily in her hand. Gripping it with a dark sense of rising pleasure, she stalked toward the fallen man.

            The hunter's bad hand reached out, grabbing the thug's hair and yanking his head backward. He thrashed but a hard knee shoved against his stomach kept him down and she kept a firm grasp on his hair as the poor light revealed his face. Leaning in, she brought the dagger up to press the blade against his throat. It made him go still almost instantly. Staring into the wide eyes, she found herself grinning.

            "You..." Shandra breathed. "...Thieves Guild?"

            "Yes," he gasped against the blade, trying to avoid being cut.

            Very slowly, she slid the edge of the blade down along the bared throat as if merely giving him a shave. There was a sound from him however as the last few centimeters raised a broad red swipe when she added pressure to the blade.

            "What claim do you have on him?" she asked.

            The thug tried hard not to swallow as the dagger was pressing so hard against his throat it would mean a serious problem. "No one...crosses the Thieves Guild..."

            "Apparently...I do," the hunter said. "And I will continue so long as your guild keeps damaging what is mine."

            "Do you realize what you're doing?"

            "I know better than you. Now, I'm going to give you a choice," she continued as she drew her blade back up under his jaw. "You can play messenger to your guild for me and live. Or...I can do to you what I am going to do to that one there."

            The tip of the blade moved to indicate the man with the bloody face and her quarrel lodged in his hip. He was still conscious but too preoccupied to try getting away. The thug looked toward his partner then back to the woman. "I'm dead if I do that."

            "There are things far worse than death."

            Shandra brought the dagger back toward the thug's face. He had no time to react as the blade flashed. Blood spurted as she opened a wide line along one side of his nose. Crying out, he jerked his head back. Her knee drove hard into his sternum, slamming him down against the ground and winding him. His arms jerked and metal rang on stone. It reminded her of Lyndon's face.

            "And on second thought..."

            Her boot came down on the man's arm hard, catching his wrist beneath the slight arch of her foot. Sinking down as he choked on a cough, she lowered her free hand. Her fingers curled around his clenching palm and forced his fingers open. With exaggerated care, she slid the iron knuckles off his fingers and brought it up between them. Looking at the bloody device, she tilted her head to one side before looking back to the man.

            "...I think...I prefer blood for blood."

            Spitting that very blood at her, he brought his other arm up to strike at the hunter. Callously, she swatted his blow away. The sharp edges of metal wings along her arm sliced through his thin leather and cloth to cut flesh. He made a strangled sound.

            Bringing the dagger up, she turned it to use the butt of the grip and slam it into the black quarrel, snapping the feathered shaft off. The jolt made the barbed head rip deeper into his chest, tearing at his lung and forcing a scream from him. The sound...made her shiver and catch a sharp breath of her own as her eyes closed. It was...delicious. Only partially aware of her next action, she reveled in the sounds that became the most important things in the world to her. Especially his screams as she moved her heel to his hand to crush every bone in it.

            "Shandra!"

            The call of her name snapped her attention back to the moment. Turning her head, she looked toward the only one who could have used it. Lyndon was holding his ribs and stomach tightly with one arm, the other was on the ground and he was slumping toward her. The mess of his face made her rage flare again. Without actual thought, she brought the dagger up, spinning it in hand, and down, plunging it into her prey's waist. Her arm jolted as the hilt struck something solid and brought another scream from him.

            "Shandra! Stop!" Lyndon shouted again as best as he could.

            "Why?" she snarled, twisting the blade and jerking it free. "Why should I?"

            He was quiet for a moment and she turned her attention back to her victim. The bloodied blade came up as she lightly traced it along his cheek. It left a trail behind but she was careful not to part the flesh yet. She was tracing the lines of where she was going to start cutting.

            "Because...this isn't you," a quiet voice answered.

            It made her pause and blink. Rather than look back to the scoundrel, the hunter regarded her prey. She could still taste it. That pain, the agony, the fear...it was all there. It was beneath her and ripe for the taking. A second source of pain and fear was off to the side behind her, telling her precisely where the living thug was at. He had not moved, he was scared and in pain. Power flooded into her and made her breath come faster with the sheer rush.

            "Are you so sure of that, Lyndon?" she asked as she grabbed the man's face with her free hand, holding him still to position the dagger.

            "Yes! Shandra, please..."

            Turning her head, she looked at him. He was closer, moving on one hand and his knees.

            "There's...nothing more...I'd like than what...you're going to do. But...you're not like this. You're not like them."

            His words were slurred and rough but she could still understand him. After figuring out what all variety of demons were able to say, a beaten face was child's play. Watching him move both fueled her rage and made something inside her hurt. Looking back to her prey--no, her victim, she growled. A hand fell onto her arm. Weight pushed down at it but she did not jerk away because he was dragging himself closer.

            "You're not a demon, Shandra," Lyndon mumbled.

            That was as good as a splash of cold water right in her face. Tensing, she looked back to him. Only then did it seem her thoughts returned. It did not wash away the dark lust but it made it more controllable.

            "Let it go, please," he asked as he settled near her, legs bent to one side and most of his weight on her side and the thief she was pinning down.

            "What purpose is a promise if the threat is not followed through?"

            Before Lyndon could answer her, the man beneath her bucked upward. It was sudden enough to rock her and send the scoundrel falling backward with a pained cry. Lifting her heel, she slammed it back down onto the broken hand to grind against it. Several more snaps and pops came along with another scream. This time, it was not pleasing. It pissed her off further.

            "Shut up!"

            She ripped the dagger free to drive it back into his chest, down between his ribs to one side of his breastbone. It was long enough to pierce his heart. Jerking it free, she rose from her position to kneel over him on one knee. Leaning in, she snarled as she glared into the man's eyes. He only wheezed a liquid-filled laugh as his life bleed out.

            "This...isn't over. Th-the rest...of the Thieves...Guild...will...find...you..."(1)

            Ignoring the last words, Shandra slashed her blade across his throat. Rising before the first spurt of blood came from the new wound, she stepped off the thief. Keeping the dagger in hand, she leaned down to retrieve the mask and fallen crossbow in the other hand. Securing them, she slid her free arm under Lyndon's body to help him get up. The sound he made gave a strangely familiar tingle deep in her body. Shaking her head at herself, she looked to the remaining thug.

            As she supported Lyndon against her side, she studied the last one. Considering him even though her temper ran hot, she sighed. Sliding her arm around Lyndon's waist, she switched hands to tuck the bloody dagger in her belt. It would be too much a pain to clean the sheath out later to put it there. It left her hand free to catch his arm where it rested across the backs of her shoulders since her armor did not permit it to go over them.

            "You have a choice. Messenger or corpse?"

            Swallowing, the thug shifted a little beneath the glare he felt behind the mask. "What message?"

            The hunter merely released Lyndon's arm to reach down to her belt and draw a small object from a pouch there. A sharp snap of her wrist sent the orb flying into the thug's lap while the small pin remained in her fingers. Knees bending, she vaulted away, taking Lyndon with her. His added weight off balanced her so the landing was hard but they stayed on their feet. Without missing a beat, she moved on as the scoundrel tried to walk with her. Behind, the thug's scream was cut off by a small explosion that sent dust and debris showering everywhere.


	4. Templar Dreams

_The Heavens burned. Demons and angels fought with the ferocity of desperate men. Battle raged all around. In the sky. On the walkways. Above and below. The scent of battle filled his lungs, the sounds made his heart race. But the battle was not near him. Nothing was. His legs burned with the strain of running. The weight of his armor dragged him down. His shield pulled at his arm, his weapon heavy in his hand. And still he ran._

_Ahead he heard the sounds of a battle that were familiar. Demons roaring and screaming in pain, the raised voices of angelic warriors, and the smaller sounds of crossbows being fired. Always ahead. There were never any bodies, only traces of dark blood or ash. He kept running as a feeling of dread took hold. Some of the walkways were marred by char as well as the corruption. Never did he see the fight. Never did a demon drop from above or leap up from the edge to attack him. Only the sounds drawing him onward._

_Lungs burning and legs painfully pumping, he at last reached a stairway. The dread grew when his foot fell on the first marble step. Halfway up, the corruption spread like a cancer over sparkling stone and grew thick. When he stepped upon it, it gave like one substance he never wanted to see again: the foul ground in the crater of hell. It moved just enough beneath his feet to slow him, make his run more difficult. He pressed onward even as it grew thicker under his feet and completely obscured the stone._

_Sound faded. He sensed the fight continuing elsewhere, but ahead...he no longer heard the demons dying. He did not hear the sounds of the battle he was striving to reach. There was only a silence that made the sweat forming between his body and armor cold in comparison to exertion-heated skin. And just as he felt the first hitches of lungs ready to give out from the strain, he reached the top of the stairs. The sight alone shocked him. He crashed to his knees, barely catching himself on his hands as he stared with wide eyes._

_It was not a battle he reached, it was a massacre. Angelic warriors were strewn across the taint-covered dais. Whether they had fallen on their backs or fronts, stood or lain, their bodies were suspended off the ground by viciously barbed black-red spikes impaling them. Their shining armor was fouled, glowing through gore and corruption as the light from their wings struggled against the darkness bleeding through it. They all lived. Even the ones trapped against the once pristine columns. Those angels struggled as futilely as insects, and they were weakening._

_She was there. She was among them. Her crimson armor was broken, bent. The mail-lined hood had fallen free and her black hair spilled over the ground. There was no sign of life, not even the rise and fall of her chest beneath the light armor. Catching a sharp breath to cry her name, the sound never made it past his throat. As he struggled to rise and get to her, her chest rose. She stirred as her arms jerked. It was enough to roll her slightly more onto her back. He heard a sound from her._

_Just as hope flared, it was consumed by horror. Her body arched upward suddenly as she jerked. A scream he hoped to never hear again burst from her open mouth as the tip of a wicked-looking spike burst free of her chest high near one shoulder. Another broke through her waist above the hip. The third caught between her ribs on one side. They lifted her from the floor up into the air just like the angels. Beneath her the corruption boiled upward to form a familiar altar-like base._

_Her thrashing became stronger. Her screams continued. Unlike the silent, struggling angels, she did not give up. Blood trickled and flowed down the dark spikes to pool on the slight hollow formed beneath her body. Darkness began to bleed from the wounds, spreading over her body from the spikes themselves. Watching that foul corruption spread made his stomach twist with revulsion._

_Again, her name came to his lips. And again, before he could give it voice, the horror grew. The vicious altar burst into flame where her blood pooled. It hungrily raced up the spikes to her body, igniting her struggling form as her head thrashed back and forth. It burnt away the armor but only spread the corruption faster, further, until she was a charred, burning thing of black, red, and flame. Her screams deafened him as if something had torn into his chest to rip his heart out._

_"SHANDRA!"_

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Kormac gasped, bolting upright in the bed. Wide eyes stared incoherently at the far wall. His heart pounded frantically in his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Panting, gasping, he slowly began to remember where he was and pull himself together. Already the dream was gone, leaving only the fear and horror behind. Where his mind did not remember the dream, his body certainly did and it expressed what his thoughts could not.

            Something hot stung his cheeks as he struggled to calm his breathing. When his hand touched his face, it came away wet. The tears barely blurred his vision as he tried to grasp what it was that terrified him so, that left his heart aching, that left his stomach tied in roiling knots. For the life of him, he could remember nothing of any dream. The only thing he knew was that everything he felt came from something he had dreamt.


	5. Templar Nightmares

_The stone was cold against his bare skin. Moisture had made it almost slimy in the places he felt against his body. Whether it was water, sweat, or his own blood had long ceased to be of concern. Pain was all he knew. His head throbbed like a giant heart, hot and without cease. The ache in his arms and shoulders was all but gone despite the fact they still held his dead weight. His throat burned it was so dry and his tongue was a thick weight sticking to the insides of his mouth and teeth._

_Every bone in his body ached. It made his head pound harder until it drove him mad. Everything hurt. Time had ceased to make a difference. All he knew was the pain. If he tried to stand to relieve the strain on his arms, his feet would slip on the blood pooled on the floor beneath him. His blood. Constantly renewed by the open welts covering his back. Somewhere in that loss of time, his stomach had ceased to gnaw at him with hunger and all that was left was the thirst and the pain._

_He had barely any warning before liquid ice splashed over his back. Millions of tiny daggers lanced through open wounds and straight into his body. Lurching in his chains, he gasped for a ragged breath. Some of the cold water spilled over his head and into his mouth, wetting bloody and split lips. The taste was like heaven as it cooled the surface of his swollen and bitten tongue. But it was too little. It made his thirst even stronger, twisting his stomach and up his throat in painful knots._

_A step came from behind and he jerked, trying to open his burning eyes. Water had washed some of the sweat and blood over the lids. Blinking, he struggled to regain his sight as bare feet scrambled over the newly slickened stone floor. Cruel hands grabbed his arms to wrench him back upright. The sudden lack of drag on his arms made him sob with a renewed pain when circulation returned and the limbs throbbed with pain. Somehow, he heard the clunk of the bucket being dropped aside._

_"Do you know why you're here?" a voice thundered in his ears and increased the throbbing in his skull._

_Groaning, he shivered violently. The hands supporting him tightened but did not let him sag again. Another hand grabbed his chin and he felt another splash of water strike his parted lips, washing into his mouth. It was barely enough to moisten parched tissues but his tongue no longer stuck to the roof of his mouth._

_"...here?" he managed to mumble._

_"Yes. Here. Do you know why you're here?"_

_All he could do was shake his head slowly._

_"Do you remember where you are?"_

_When he did not move again, something struck his back hard enough to bruise exposed muscle. Lurching upright, a howl of agony left him. The hands restrained him, forcing him to thrash in futile effort to combat the agony. He had no concept about escape, only the pain._

_"Do you remember where you are?!"_

_Collapsing, gasping for breath as his body again drown in the agony, he managed to shake his head as he stared at the blood-stained stone wall he faced._

_"Who are you?"_

_Thinking was not a possibility. He heard the voice, knew the words, understood the question, but could not comprehend it. Another blow._

_"Who are you?!"_

_Breaking down, he let his forehead strike the stone as his eyes closed and he just sobbed. He did not know. He could not remember. He could not answer. Another blow from the other side and he howled like a tortured beast again. The hands were suddenly gone and he fell. The chains held fast, jerking his arms up as his body struck the end of the slack and he felt joints pop in elbows and shoulders._

_"He's ready," the voice said behind him._

_Suddenly, ice lanced across his raw back. Lurching in the chains, he could not even voice another outcry as the blade's edge of ice melted into burning fire eating through his flesh into his very bones. It took him several more moments to grasp that the lashing had resumed. But it was only one strike. One. Nothing more. And suddenly he felt something new, something absolutely alien. He felt...like a man. A man with a name. A man with a purpose. And a man who remembered this place and this torment clearly._

_Kormac opened his eyes and rose, pushing himself back to his feet as he remembered who he was, where he was, what was happening. He remembered the source of the voice behind him and twisted to look over a bloody shoulder. The inquisitor stood there flanked by two more. A third was near the door to the cell behind them. But even as he looked, the familiar visages changed, fading into something else. Their ceremonial garb altered itself, melting into something different with completely alien coloring._

_"He's free! Don't let him rearm!"(1)_

_Pushing away from the wall, he spun. The chains were gone and he was clothed in torn rags that had been his clothing. Charging forward as holy retribution filled his breast, the templar struck the cultists head-on. Their magic sputtered and was lost as they were knocked back. Even unarmed and outnumbered he could fight them. His fists jolted with pain every time he landed a blow but he ignored it. Light filled his chest and ignited his senses, washing the pain away as he focused on dispatching the vile criminals in his path._

_For every cultist that fell, another seemed to just appear with the pus-yellow garb clashing against dark purple. Refusing to tire, he fought on, striving to reach the armor he could see in the open chest beyond his adversaries. But despite his fervor, regardless of how many steps forward he took, he drew no closer to his goal. They continued to come, ignoring the corpses of their comrades in their haste to attack. And between the numbers, the blows, and the spells, he felt his light fading as his body began to succumb to exhaustion._

_One of them managed a lucky strike across his skull that sent him to the floor. His head and ears rang, bringing that hot throbbing of a headache back. Their hands caught him, hauled him back, restrained him. Dizzy and unable to focus, he knew they drug him along the floor. Blue light was off to one side of him as he struggled against his captors. Vision clearing for a split second, he saw part of the cathedral in ruin as if something had crashed through the ceiling and the floor. Then it was obscured by the forms of his captors._

_When they dropped him, Kormac grunted as the impact struck some cracked bones. It was a brief moment of distraction, but it was all they required. He felt it even as he struggled to his feet. Demonic magic. The curses came from all around him as tendrils of burning shadow tangled about his arms and legs. They snaked around his waist and tangled about his chest and throat. Roaring in pain and rage, he struggled only to hear sudden silence when something filled his throat to render him mute._

_Still, he screamed as the first burning sensations came. It was not just his body but his mind. Spidery claws crawled through his thoughts, raking vicious trails of pain in their wake as they sought memories. He felt that tainted thing bleeding into him and he turned his fight toward it. Light flared in his heart and mind as he pushed the warping disease away from his thoughts. Voices droned in his ears like bees. It was wordless tones rising and falling, dragging at his mind and driving him mad._

_Acid ate away at his body, his mind, his soul. He felt the odorous presence growing. Every moment he remained snared in the magic of the cultists, the power behind it grew. It began to overwhelm him. Refusing to surrender, he continued to fight, body thrashing in the tight bonds and mind raging against the crushing grip of magic beginning to envelop it. The drone began to drive everything but the pain out of his mind. Head thrown back, he screamed again, soundlessly as he strained with everything he had against the bonds and magic._

_"...templar."_

_The voice was a faint whisper in his mind--no, his ears. Even as the corruption closed around him, he heard it._

_"Templar. Don't make me ask again."_

_It was a new voice. One he knew. One he had heard...so many times. It was as dark as the foul magic devouring him but it was not tainted. This dark was cool and natural, powerful in its simplicity. And then he realized it was a woman's voice._

_"Why are you being punished?"_

_Suddenly, he remembered. Flooding back into himself again, Kormac's eyes snapped open as he strained to look toward the source. The woman's name was on the tip of his tongue. And just as he caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the stairs above--the cultist magic was gone. Dropping, he landed on a stone floor that was vastly different than the one he had been on a moment before. The air around him was chokingly hot and poisonous. Coughing as his straining lungs took the first breath, he gagged and choked._

_Then he realized he could not move. Again he was bound, but this time by...spider webs. Forgetting to breathe in that moment, he tensed and stared down at them. Blood splattered the floor beneath him where he rested on his hands and knees. It had spread in unnatural patterns like a crazed artist might make. Curving lines with small spatters trailed away from him as his back burned and throbbed just as it had when he was chained to the wall._

_Drawn by the curious sight, he slowly lifted his head to let his burning eyes follow the trail. That was when a hand caught his head. Cool leather pressed against his jaw and cheek. It guided his head a little to the side to press against cool metal. And he remembered even faster than before. He knew the woman who pressed his cheek to her armored thigh. Just as he recognized the nightmare human-spider maiden sitting so leisurely yards away, fingering the nightmare of her sex-mouth._

_"Templar!"_

_Taking a sharp breath, Kormac drew upon the light he felt residing in his heart. Pulling it upward, he released it, pushing its flow along the trail of his own blood toward the nightmare that chilled the sweat on his abused, over-heated body. The light exploded as the maiden screamed, vanishing in blinding illumination. He closed his eyes against the intensity and pressed his face against the armored thigh to help block the sight out._

_Suddenly, it was gone. All of it. He was free. And she was walking away. Panting to catch his breath as holy light filled him, strengthened him to where he could regain control over weak limbs, he slowly sat up. Dizzy and light-headed from blood loss, he did manage to get to his knees, then clumsily to his feet._

_"I am not Maghda."_

_He remembered this. Blinking, he swayed before regaining his balance. Taking one step after her, the name returned. Just as he started to reply, he saw her stop and turn around. The cloak had concealed her from his view but in the dark gloom of the pit, the metal nearly glowed. It was white. As white as fresh snow. As white as milk. As pure as angel's wings. Angel wings that rose behind her to spread the ethereal tendrils of light through the darkness._

_No, not just wings. As he watched with eyes widening, the demon hunter tossed the bloody lash aside and let her arms fall to her sides. Another set of arms faded into view as the wings continued to rise. The powerful limbs embraced her from behind with the tenderness of a lover. Kormac watched breathless as a being he had only seen depicted in drawings and murals emerged into his sight. Tyrael--the Archangel of Justice--stood behind the hunter. The angelic being towered over her by several feet, dwarfing her form._

_"But, I am Jondar."_

_Confused by the words that came from her cloth-covered lips, the templar stood there and frowned. Tyrael had no such problem. He straightened, easily lifting Shandra from the ground and into his arms as she brought one of her own up to wind about his neck as best as she could with the angel in full armor. The glowing white hood turned so the shadow within could clearly regard her. And before the confused templar, the hunter leaned into the void as if kissing something in the dark visage._

_"My Shandra," the power-filled voice stated._

_The white-blue wings rose and shifted, tendrils merging into a more solid shape as they took on a more familiar avian form. Tyrael's hollow hood turned back toward Kormac to regard him before he leapt upward. In his arms, Shandra curled securely as any maiden in the grip of a knight in shining armor. Bowing her head, she rested it against the angel's chest and closed her eyes. Just as Tyrael became a shaft of brilliant light, the hunter dissolved into an arc of blood twining about the streak of illumination as they ascended from the pits of hell._

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Kormac woke with a sharp gasp. One hand immediately went to grip at his chest and the racing beat of his heart. A heart that felt as if it had been pierced. Every beat was a sharp lance of pain that made his entire body throb. Eyes stinging, he blinked rapidly before dashing angrily at them with the back of one hand. Ignoring the tears on the back of his hand, he tried to steady his breathing and remember the dream. Already it was fading but he recalled bits and pieces of it.

            As he caught his breath, he flipped the bedcovers back and sat up to drop his legs over the edge of the bed. Elbows falling to his knees, he let his head drop into his hands as he scrubbed at his face furiously and focused. The dream had been alternating. He remembered his purification and the inquisitors was the first part. The second was...the cathedral and the cultists that had captured him. From there, the crater. And he knew that the hunter had been part of this dream.

            In fact, when he focused on it, that was the clearest part of the entire dream. He found himself glaring at the floor near his feet as he remembered the last moments with crystal clarity. Tyrael. Shandra. Together. And for some reason that hurt. It was why his heart ached this way. But there was one other thing he remembered that he could not place into the rest of the fading blur. Shandra's words. She had mentioned Jondar. Then she had gone to Tyrael's arms. The very thought made pain and dread grip his heart but he could not figure out why!


	6. Aggravations

            Wood crackled and snapped as fire consumed it like a ravening beast. The sound was almost as comforting as the voices speaking at its source. But she was too far away from both to allow the flames to warm her or the chatter drag her into the conversation. If she had wanted to, she could have heard every word they said. Her attention was directed away. Although the waning moon shed poor light for her to see very far in the night, there was enough light to make shadows and shapes stand apart from one another.

            Nothing was stirring save her breath where it fogged very faintly near her lips. Even with the onset of spring to the land, the nights had a tendency to cling to the cold side. It gave the hope that whatever might normally be of threat would sequester itself away in the warmth of some enclosed space rather than prowl free. A mere spark of hope was not enough for her to risk life and limb on. So, it was her watch while the others enjoyed their camp and caught some sleep. It was doubtful she would find sleep a willing partner anyhow.

            A laugh broke more sharply from the campfire behind her. Turning her head barely a quarter of an inch, Shandra took a moment to identify it. Lyndon. He had all but recovered since they had met up with the wizard Chaende and his party in Caldeum that fateful night. The strange crusader accompanying the kid had been able to heal the scoundrel almost fully. Only the broken bones pained him since they were apparently far more difficult to mend magically and had to go through a more natural process.

            Meeting the young wizard again had brought something else to light. As had been hinted at toward the beginning of the entire mess in New Tristram, the nephalem were not gone. They had begun to resurface--or perhaps, re-emerge. Chaende was one. Those he traveled with had the same potential. While she and her little band had been on the spearhead to strike the source of the impending evil, the wizard and other budding nephalem had been holding the lines throughout all lands to aid in stemming the tide of demons and other corrupted beings.

            The faint rustle of half-dry grass alerted her that someone was approaching. It came from behind rather than in front. Listening to the progress, Shandra's eyes turned more to a distant point in the sky just above the darker horizon of the trees and earth.

            "You conceal your presence almost as well as a demon itself, hunter," came from below.

            "That is the point, is it not?" she asked.

            The tree gave the slightest hint of a jolt as a heavy weight came to rest against the trunk. Bark scraped over metal before her visitor went still. Only after a few moments of quiet did she finally turn her attention away from the dark horizon to glance down.

            "Just like the eyes of a wolf at the edge of a fire," rose the voice.

            Blinking, she did not even bother to shrug, merely watching the play of the distant fire over the metal armor the crusader yet wore. Everyone else had shrugged most of the harder armaments off for the softer comfort of warm furs and blankets to sleep in. The man leaning against the tree trunk beneath her perch remained ever-shielded and ever-armed. It was something she could come to appreciate if she permitted herself such a luxury.

            "Did you need something, crusader?"

            "You did not join us for the evening meal."

            "I have my own fare to sustain me."

            "Is your friend part of that particular repast?" he asked.

            Her eyes narrowed at that before she looked away from the fire-edged form. Silence fell once more although it was a little more terse than prior. Finally, the man spoke again in a softer tone.

            "I have encountered demon hunters before. They are marked by the darkness that they escaped from in ways...I will admit, I fail to comprehend. In fact, I even spent some time hunting alongside one of you some months past. He was...a very curious creature."

            The hunter remained quiet. She did listen but her attention was again aimed outward to the land around their little camp.

            "Lyndon has entertained us with many stories since we encountered you. While part of me scoffs at some of the more outlandish tales, others have spoken much the same about you and your deeds."

            "And it grates against you that the agent of Diablo's demise is one tainted by demons?" she finally asked after a few more moments of silence.

            "A little, yes," he admitted. "Perhaps not as much as I thought it would."

            "Isn't that a strange view for a crusader to hold given your faith in the light?"

            Bark cracked and scraped again as he shifted. When she glanced down, she saw the dark shapes of his arms rise as he gripped his helm. Lifting it free, he gave a small shake of his head and lowered the piece down to rest near his chest. Even though they were a good distance from the fire, the warm light caught on the man's fair hair and made it seem a corona of tiny threads of flame crowned him.

            "I follow the Zakarum. And I am a crusader, not a paladin or a templar like your Kormac. Everyone has the right and the freedom to believe in what gods or power they wish. It is when those beliefs bring harm and danger that such problems must be met and solved swiftly."

            "A noble view," she murmured.

            "Perhaps. It seems to serve me well enough. I am more interested in your view however. Somehow, I do not think it is as dark as you wish to believe."

            Sighing, Shandra looked back down and just studied the shadowed figure. The crusader was staring out into the night. He was probably aware of her scrutiny but chose to give her time to reply. Instead, she simply gave a minute shake of her head and looked back out into the night. They shared the time in silence. It was a small bubble outside the fringe of the others.

            "I do not think you are as dark as you believe yourself to be."

            She remained silent. He apparently took the silence to be an invitation to continue.

            "You may not have let us see the face beneath your mask, but that does not mean I have been blind to the extent of your injuries. Or to other things since Chaende brought us to you."

            "You are rambling now, crusader."

            "My name is Fairmont."

            "I know."

            "You no longer move with a limp," he continued as if she had not interrupted and attempted to derail his musings. "After the lucani attack at the desert border, you no longer favored your leg. When the kazrah attempted to ambush us yesterday, you still moved slow and jerky."

            Sighing, Shandra finally looked back down to the man. A faintly glowing gaze met her own. His eyes were touched by the blue of a dreamscape tropic sky. It was new enough to draw her full attention. Granted, it did not cause her exasperation to fade in the slightest.

            "Is there a point to your words, crusader?"

            "Tonight, you move like a shadow in the darkness. The pain and death you wrought has been healing what the light could not."

            Eyes narrowing, she felt muscle tick along both sides of her jaw. Snorting at that, she turned her gaze back to the horizon.

            "I heal fast, crusader, always have."

            "Not in this way, unless I am mistaken. You may think you conceal your worry well, but I am no stranger to reading things people are unaware of revealing in their behavior."

            Despite her growing irritation, Shandra remained quiet. There was a flicker of movement to the far left of her vision but the avian was flying in a line that did not bring it toward the camp.

            "You are afraid."

            That certainly caught her attention but she refused to look down at the crusader.

            "Why have you not turned your fear to hate as your path decrees?"

            Her silence remained. In fact, she was careful to emit nothing but a mild anger rather than the cold temper that was burning in her throat and chest. This "Fairmont" was beginning to prove quite a nuisance and irritation.

            "You should have more faith in those who hold you as friend." He moved, causing bark to scrape against his armor. "Unless you can find faith in yourself."

            Shandra looked down as the man turned to step back toward the fire. Most of the conversations had died down as the group sought the warmth of their blankets for sleep. Apparently, Fairmont was ready to join them before he tried to relieve her watch. Not that he would succeed this night. She turned her focus outward once more.

            "Lyndon may just enjoy the pain if you are the one inflicting it."

            "What?" Shandra asked before she could stop herself.

            The crusader paused and bowed his head. All she could see was his back but both elbows were bent and there was a glimpse of the helm held in his hands from the angle of her perch.

            "You know what I mean, hunter. But if I must explain, then you should ask Lyndon--"

            "Mind your own business, crusader. Not everyone wants your 'help' in this world."

            "You may not desire it, but Lyndon does."

            "Then go help him."

            Fairmont slowly turned back and looked up straight into her eyes.

            "I am. Because what he needs help with is you, hunter."

            Shandra felt a growl rising in the back of her throat. The sound, however, came from near the base of the tree she perched in. The crusader glanced down to find a coal black wolf peeling from the night. Its head was down, fangs bared, eyes burning like twin crimson embers.

            "I did not ask him to follow me, in fact I attempted to avoid this very situation."

            Fairmont looked back up. She could see that odd dreamscape glow in his eyes. Nothing else was present and it made her own eyes narrow with wariness.

            "I've been watching the others as well. I've seen how you pull away any time he gets close or tries to approach you, hunter. Something happened to drive a wedge between you. Something tied into his recent condition."

            "He's a stubborn fool," she said.

            "He's a fool in love," came the unexpected reply.

            "Just what is it you're digging for, crusader?" she snapped.

            Fairmont turned back around, looking straight at her.

            "He followed you because he loves you, even if he refuses to admit it to anyone including himself. You shove him away because you care enough for him to be afraid you'll hurt him because of what you are. The only people you are fooling are yourselves."

            "Mind your own business, crusader."

            "Everyone needs light in their life, Hunter Shandra. Especially those with the darkest paths. If you are afraid of what you are facing, then perhaps you need what you fear the most."


	7. Hop, Skip, Jump...Run

            The incident with the crusader Fairmont ate at her thoughts. Even when she sank into a crouch at the top of the rise to scan the land with a thickening amount of wooded groves, it distracted her from her task. She had not been fooling herself about how Lyndon felt. He had never said as much but the fact he stuck near her even when there was no profit, tolerated and helped her for no reward, and even treated her like he normally did despite the horrible scars; it had not gone unnoticed. She had been trying to ignore it.

            Her reaction to his pain in the alleyway had more than shown her how close she was to crossing that final line. And there was more than one reason to doubt Tyrael's claim that she could not become a demon. There had been several demons brought down that had been innocent people at one time. While there was a shred of uncertainty about the source of the knowledge, it was present. And, she had seen the cultist minions transform into demonic beings as well. It would not be that far-fetched to believe she could become one given her position.

            And then there was the kiss in the alley. It had been...indescribable. Even if she had lost herself in it and had no grasp on her present, the sensations had been...very provocative. The taste of his blood was still fresh in her memory. If she thought about it, she could still taste the scoundrel in the most intimate way possible. And that was what did scare her in a way she could not turn into hatred: she wanted it again.

            Motion in the distance caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes to find the source. Smoke from something large. Likely the town of New Tristram if the landscape was of any indication. They were almost to their destination. Shortly, she would be rid of all of them and they would be safe. The thought did not bring an ease to her thoughts as she had planned. If anything, she did want to linger near them. But if she did, Lyndon would not be safe.

            "Shandra?"

            The very subject she was thinking on had come up behind her while she was preoccupied with the view and her thoughts. Tensing at the lapse of attention, she turned her head to look over her shoulder at Lyndon.

            "We're almost there," she replied.

            His face was almost fully healed save a few faint red marks and a shadow over one eye where deeper bruising had yet to vanish completely. There was still a cautious stiffness to his walk so he was missing his typical swagger. Aside from those small things, he seemed fully recovered. It was a relief made bitter by a pang of disappointment. Ignoring the latter, she turned away from him and shifted to rise from her position.

            "If it wouldn't be too much of a trouble, can we go around that particular farm house?"

            It took her a moment to figure out what he was alluding to. Looking over the land before them--it suddenly clicked.

            "Afraid to face your 'betrothed' again?" she teased.

            "I would prefer to leave matters to rest, yes. She really was not my type."

            "She is a sweet girl. And she was quite infatuated with you."

            "Exactly my point. She was far too...innocent a flower. While beautiful and infatuated, it would have come to a bad end."

            "And you're not the marrying type."

            Lyndon did not respond. It caused her to look back in his direction only to meet his gaze. His eyes were a beautiful amber brown instead of the typical earthy hue. They were also oddly unreadable as they stared at her.

            "Perhaps not...but, as I said, she was not my type."

            A faint sense of premonition was tickling at the edges of her senses. It stayed her from asking the obvious question. Rather than step into that trap, she simply nodded and turned to look for the rest of the group. Lyndon sighed, frustration almost palatable, but Shandra refused to humor him.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            As the others moved along the road, their conversations mingled. She tuned them all out as her attention strayed back and forth. They were passing through the small woodland near New Tristram. The last time she had been there, undead creatures had crawled through every shadow and tainted the open areas. Nothing stirred this time save a few birds and smaller creatures. Small signs of life revealed how changed the land already was, how safe it had become since Diablo's fall.

            The voices of her companions grew steadily fainter as she slowed to allow them to pull ahead and away. Soon, they would come to a bend in the road. That was where she would part their company permanently. A quick scan told her Lyndon was deep in the telling of another story to the female monk that accompanied the damned crusader and Chaende. The last member of the party--a mage named Kadrick--was also listening to the tale as he stuck close to Fairmont's side.

            Waiting patiently for them to go out of sight, she paused then stopped to tilt her head and listen. A nearby bird was singing softly while the sound of footsteps was lost. Turning, she stepped off the road and moved quickly through the trees, blending into the shadows easily thanks to the dark armor. Her thigh still protested with uncomfortable tugs at the scarred flesh but it was far easier to move than it had been. Keeping silent and swift, she slid around brush rather than raise a racket and disturb the small creatures to give away her position.

            New Tristram had never been her true destination. Her goal was the ruins of Old Tristram. From there, the fallen temple of the nephalem. And although Lyndon knew that information, with the others distracting him, she would be deep into her hunt before he could hope to catch up to her. Hopefully, he would be persuaded to give up on tailing her by the others. She knew the crusader would not help that issue, but the rest might.

            The thought of the crusader brought up another issue entirely. He had been correct. Ever since she had fought and killed the different beast-men that sought to attack them, it had become easier to move. She moved faster, more like she had before Diablo's demise. In addition, she had not needed to use the salve for a week. Whether she wanted it or not, inflicting pain and death actually had healed her where the blessings of angels failed. It meant the man might be correct about other things as well.

            Pushing all such thoughts from her mind, she focused on the terrain and her movement. Setting an easy pace that ate the distance without over exerting herself, she kept one eye on the position of the sun when visible or the tree moss when it was blocked. Given they had traversed the majority of distance walking or once in a while riding in a cart, the faster pace was a small exhilaration all its own. It was nice. And Shandra found herself relaxing the further from the party she went.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            The temple was unchanged. Moss and slime still clung to the eroding stone, water poured through ancient pipes to pool around it, the pools spun slow but strong waiting for the unwary to try crossing the decayed remnants of the bridge to the broken entrance. The only difference was that now Shandra recognized some of the glyphs carved into the stone walls. Recognized, but could not read. That and there were no longer any remains from would-be raiders or adventurers where the lower platform rested.

            "Ah," came a sound too perfect to be made by anything natural in the place.

            Coming to a stop a few feet from the broken bridge, the hunter turned to scan the area. A shift in the air near her made her turn back and look toward the disturbance that seemed to brush over every scarred part of her body. Sure enough, a spectral blue figure emerged from thin air before her.

            "Alaric," she said simply as his features took form.

            "We had wondered if you would pass this way again. You have found your answers?" the spirit asked.

            "Yes. But that is not why I returned."

            The spectre nodded once as if he had already known. "I sense something other than your newly budding powers. A thing that we have not beheld for ages past."

            Shandra shifted. Rolling her shoulders, she shrugged off her pack and brought it before her. Sinking into a crouch, she placed it on the ground and opened it to rifle through. The object that Itherael had given her in the library was still near the top where she had wrapped it near her food. Removing the cloth, she held the item up for the ghost to inspect. His clear surprise and excitement caught her full attention.

            "It is! We had thought them lost long before the wars brought ruin upon us."

            "What is it?"

            "That is a rift stone. And whatever hand of fate brought it into your possession, you should consider yourself quite fortunate. These were the primary methods to train our elite warriors."

            Looking to the artifact in her hand, she considered those words. Alaric was silent as she gathered her thoughts and made her calculations. Finally, the phantom spoke again.

            "They were known to only come to those who needed them, in the end."

            "How can this rift-stone be used to help me?"

            Alaric smiled faintly before drifting forward. One transparent hand rose to point to the amber stone at the heart.

            "This is the lock."

            Shandra felt an almost familiar sense of premonition as she looked at the object that rested so easily and comfortably on her palm.

            "What is the key?"

            The ghost smiled, but it was more pensive than pleased. Drifting backward, Alaric faded away. His voice came across a great span of distance and she nearly missed his answer. "Blood will always run true..."


	8. Darkling Deviation

_Lust, most religious sorts tell us, is one of the gravest of sins...the sin currently on my mind. Kormac...asked me to purify him...his fear and failure to overcome it has been the core of what has been eating away at him... How could I not agree to help him recover from that?...not as pure a soul as he thinks me to be._

_I lust now...lost myself in chaos...cycle would destroy me from within. Nephalem are part angel and part demon... very concerned that I will become worse...some shades of gray are so dark...black. I am afraid of becoming the very thing I hunt...no clue how to turn that fear into hatred..._

_In aiding Kormac with the whip...his screams excited me...hurting him, causing him to bleed, seeing him bound and at my mercy...hearing him scream for me even if muffled, it was the same thrill and addiction I have for hunting my prey. ...if I see Kormac as prey or not... I want to make him scream for me again, I want impossible things, things that the templar will denounce as pure sin. He would never let me do any of them..._

_That's why I enjoyed it. He wanted to be hurt...why should it be such a...pull...to hurt someone that wants to be hurt? Maybe...it's just him...the extended companionship has given me something...I chose to abandon and cast aside...it maybe I've been ignoring my own baser needs... Living day to day with nothing but hatred and discipline to control it..._

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Blackness claimed him. Yet even within the senseless dark, he knew he was in pain. It was a constant throb as he drifted in and out of awareness. Every time there was a misstep or shift, it jolted him back just in time to enjoy the raw sensations of his beating. The brief kiss of unconsciousness became a pleasant interlude he actually found himself wishing would hold onto him completely rather than torment him with brief respite. At least it made time pass faster.

            One moment, a street with clouds of sand and dirt rising from a destroyed alley crumbling behind them. A powerful arm around his middle, pressing on a broken rib and making sharp bone dig into his lung. The mixed agony and relief that he had once again slipped free of a fate worse than the death it would lead to. Then darkness.

            Next moment, he jerked as someone yelped in pain. It took a moment to realize it was his own voice and he was on his knees. A split second of despair and fear hit him--he had only imagined being rescued! He was still in the alley with arms trapped. But no, only one arm was caught and it came to rest too high. There was an arm going around his waist again to lift him up and his pain-fogged brain made the connection. Stairs, he must have tripped and nearly fell out of her grip. Blackness consumed him.

            Then again, pain brought him back to life as his body struck the ground--no, not ground. It was too soft despite how much the landing hurt. Forcing his good eye open, he managed to make out walls and furniture. A bed. A lamp. A shadow that rose from the nothingness to hover over him. Tensing despite his injuries, he froze as a pained hiss escaped bloody and split lips. He struggled to relax but his body remained locked up in the throes of renewed pain. All he could do was ride it out.

            Crimson suddenly flared within the shadow's rough outline. Eyes that burned into the swollen slit of his own, stabbed through him and made the pain seem like nothing. Hunger burned there, something vicious and spiteful, hate-filled and mad. The demon swooped down and he could not help but jerk. It tore a pained cry from his throat and made his body jerk as if caught in a spasm.

            Light from the lamp near the bed poured over the demon as it followed him and the horridly burned flesh stood stark against...against...lightly tanned skin. A face he knew. A face he had helped tend. The demon hunter materialized from the nightmare as she reached out to press something cold against the eye that was swollen shut. It was like a trigger that snapped the strings keeping his body rigid. Darkness threatened his minimal vision as he sagged backward.

            Blinking, he managed to look back at her--but time tricked him. His other eye was able to open slightly. He lay on the bed, half stripped. Gloved hands moved with cautious intent to unfasten his shirt. They came to guide him up to pull it off one arm and pain flared again. Groaning, he was not so far gone he missed it. A flare of crimson hunger, of madness. It was a foreboding light in her demonic-hued eyes.

            Suddenly, it occurred to him something was wrong. He remembered this. Like a dream becoming reality, or reality that had been lost to a dream. And as he lay there...he remembered the painful crush of her mouth upon his in the alley. He felt the heat and the fierce hunger. He remembered the spark of shock and pleasure that was all but drown beneath the agony of his body.

            His jaw was stiff and mouth sore from the cuts caused by his teeth. Although he started to speak, when she turned to the table to reach for the cold cloth again, he caught her arm. She paused and looked at him. He forgot what he was about to say when he saw the struggle in those crimson-kissed eyes. They flickered between ruby and gold, light fading slightly between surges of...gods knew what. She was fighting something inside. That was all that seemed to matter. And...it made his heart skip a beat. She was fighting for him.

            It was hardly the first time she had saved his neck. In fact, the first time she had fought for him had been when he met her. He had been unable to keep track of how many times her arrows had kept his hide intact. For a split second, he remembered cold water and hot air in a moonlit oasis. The hunger in her actions paled in comparison to what he saw in her eyes now. Yet, she held back. She turned away--as she had in the alley. She had been ready to kill, to murder, to protect him.

            A small voice in the back of his mind raised a note of alarm, but it was too late. Pushing himself up caused the injuries the thugs inflicted to burn anew. When her arm rose and hand went to his shoulder to restrain him, he used it to yank himself up. This time he claimed her mouth with his. She went as hard as stone against him as his other arm caught around her waist to keep himself upright.

            Cuts stung anew and blood made their lips slide together. Hers parted for a sharp breath that brought a new sensation of rawness to his lips. She pulled back and he made a pained sound into her open mouth. That was all it took. What he had experienced before paled in comparison as her free hand caught the unbound locks of his hair to wrench his head back and trap him. Her mouth devoured his as her teeth re-opened the cuts on his lips and her tongue thrust past them to claim his.

            Barely able to draw a sharp breath in through his nose as the pain surged, he found no desire to fight. Instead, he surrendered the pain to her as she shoved him back down onto the bed. Her weight bore down on his chest and made cracked and broken ribs shift. She drank his scream down without hesitation as the bed dipped. It was her weight that made it shift beneath him as she crawled onto it to straddle his legs.

            _...his screams excited me..._

            Her voice whispered the words into his mind as if she were confessing something locked deep within her own personal darkness. Rather than frighten him, it inflamed the sudden desire as her hands moved over his chest. Cloth tore harshly as she ripped his shirt off him. It brought another cry of pain. She bit down on his lower lip hard enough to make the cuts bleed harder before taking his mouth again.

            _...hurting him, causing him to bleed, seeing him bound and at my mercy..._

            Suddenly, his arms were over his head, bound to the bed's frame as her gloved hands raked down his sides. Even with the leather preventing her fingernails from scratching, he felt the harsh trails as keenly as if her hands were bare. Twisting against his will, he struggled under her, caught in the agony of his body and the pain her cruel explorations brought. Yet, for every agony, there was pleasure as her hips ground down against his and her body writhed in the grasp of her own desire.

            _I lust now...Nephalem are part angel and part demon..._

            Certainly it was the demon that had him snared within her grasp as her thighs trapped his hips and pinned him to the bed. Struggle as he might, he was trapped. Her mouth grew softer against his as the harshness of her motions slackened then eased completely. Trembling, panting harshly, he finally sagged back to the bed. Muscles continued to spasm and jerk but could no longer remain fully tense. She drew back and he could gasp for air.

            ... _I want to make him scream for me again..._

            Looking up at her, he went as still as he could. Her eyes burned solid crimson. The pupils were gold, not black. Still, he saw the struggle within them. The hunger...brought an involuntary shiver that sent another wave of pain through his body. Catching a sharp breath, he tensed and waited. She waited. But even as he started to relax, he saw the surge of flame in her eyes as she...fed off the pain. And he released the strangled groan he had choked back.

            ... _maybe I've been ignoring my own baser needs..._

            She leaned down. His lips felt raw as his own breath rushed over them. For a moment, he both dreaded and desired the cruel crush of her mouth. But when her lips found his, they were gentle. Even the slightest brush of flesh made his sting and throb then feel so sensitive. Involuntarily, his tongue darted out over their lips. He tasted blood...and barely managed to avoid a shiver as a new sensation gripped him.

            Gazing into those burning eyes, he saw her. He saw the woman, the hunter, the wolf...still in control. And he felt...weak. It made him shiver at the incredibly vulnerable feeling. He knew her strength, he felt it even then in the way her thighs held his hips immobile. There was the way she could maneuver him into position, manipulate his body so easily, without breaking a sweat. And this power she had over him...dominating every aspect of their tryst in the oasis, showing him how...pale a glimpse it had been.

            Powerless. He understood the feeling finally. And it stunned him as he realized how completely their roles had been reversed. Now he had his first true example of how a woman must feel beneath a man. And where it was frightening, the throb of his cock did not allow him to deny it was turning him on regardless of the pain. Then again, he had never found pain to fuel desire. Not until...her.

            His thoughts were shattered when she moved. One hand braced her weight against his chest but her palm pressed down above the injuries. It caused his breath to be more constricted but did little more than make his sides throb as ribs protested the pressure. He barely dared breathe as he waited, wondering. Slowly, his fingers curled in toward his palms as he settled his arms more comfortably so the bindings would not bite into his wrists.

            "...give me your pain, your agony...your pleasure...give yourself to me..."

            The words were half breathed near his ear so they seared his flesh with the heavy heat, and half growled in that fire-roughened voice that was still so rich and fluid. A shudder gripped him and her hips moved to grind her armor-covered groin against his. The metal was hard but smooth so it added to the friction making his still-trapped cock throb harder. Gasping, he could not help but arch his upper body slightly. Pain surged.

            "...surrender...all that you are...all that you have...all that you will be...give yourself to me..."

            If her body had not already begun to drive him insane with the confusion between pain and pleasure, her voice and words would have. There was something...something he could not pin down. But he wanted it. He feared it. But he wanted it.

            "...submit..."

            Rising to her knees, her hands slid down along his body. One pressed against the broken rib and he twisted away with a panting cry. The other slid down to his pants. He barely felt the sharp tug on his belt as his eyes involuntarily closed. Time slipped away again, because when he looked at her next, she had stripped him completely. And she had removed her own armor. Both eyes managed to open and permitted him a clear view of the body he had not seen fully exposed since...

            She was as he remembered. Her form was still that mix of female and muscle he had beheld on that oasis night. The tan of her skin was no longer...uniform. Where her face was burned in a nightmarish mix of red and white with traces of yellow as tissue gradually repaired and rebuilt itself, the burns splattered over her chest held hints of brownish black where old blood had scabbed beneath the abuse of her armor.

            It was a tableau of beauty and horror...and he could not stop following the demonic blemishes with his eyes. As the dark bra slipped and slid away, he saw that one of those gravity defying breasts had been forever tainted by what would be a horrible scar when fully healed. He had seen and treated the burns along her waist, hip and thigh, but it was the first time she had revealed the entirety of the damage to him.

            "Please," he heard himself say, even if it was still badly slurred.

            One of her hands moved up to caress the side of his face. The throb of tormented flesh did not stop him from tilting his head to press his battered cheek into her bare palm. His breath caught as she leaned forward and guided his head upward. When she began to guide him to the flawless breast, he struggled to pull away. Surprise crossed her half-healed face. Turning his head, pulling against the grip she had taken on his hair, he strained against his bound arms toward the burn-marked breast.

            Nothing else was said, but her sharp gasp and nearly pained moan as he carefully took the tender flesh into his mouth was reward enough. Already he felt the moist heat building between her legs where she hovered just out of reach of his body. He kept his teeth covered so only his lips and tongue touched her skin. It was a metallic taste laced with...leather and herbs. Whether his blood or hers resting too close the thin barrier of healing flesh, he did not care. He could still taste her beneath the bitterness of hellfire.

            Suddenly, she was fully on top of him, forcing his body back against the bed so he cried out. He could not tell if it hurt or felt good as she ground her mound against the base of his cock, letting the rougher skin of an older burn injury torment his length when she rocked. His chest was on fire, pulsing like a giant heartbeat as his broken bones ground together. But his shaft was weeping and throbbing with need, smearing drops of precum over her abdomen and hip.

            Her teeth found the side of his neck as she jerked his head back until her fist hit the bed. It made him arch his neck at an uncomfortable angle. Only the hard press of her breasts against his chest as the burns caught on his own firming nipples to tease seemed to make the pain bearable. When her teeth left his ear, her grip eased and he caught a harsh breath--which was lost when his cock was taken into a wet inferno as she impaled herself down to the root before her sex clenched around him so tight it brought a scream from his lips.

            It was not about pleasure or pain, they were one and the same. All he knew was the sensations. She was not gentle, nor was she cruel. His body jerked and thrashed every time she moved as he lost control over his reactions. Panting, gasping, he stopped worrying about keeping quiet. Every sound he made brought something more for him to feel, pulling and thrusting him higher toward something he both feared and needed.

            The harsh breaths roared in his ears and made his skin sting beneath the heat. Every time she moved, he was lost in the tight heat, the crushing pull milking him. Her breasts swayed and bounced from the harshness of her motions as she sat back to ride him while watching him struggle. When he dared meet those burning eyes, all he saw was hunger, lust, desire...and that powerful thing that made something deep inside him tremble like a leaf in a storm.

            Unexpectedly, she shoved him up along the bed so his head and shoulders met the pillows. It allowed his bound arms some slack as his elbows bent. Free, and somehow more prisoner than ever as his arms were forced against his chest, he instinctively parted his legs to try and gain some leverage. His arms jolted his ribs, causing his vision to explode into white and black briefly as his head fell back against the head rail.

            When time again abandoned him for a moment, he found himself coming back to a new sensation. Even as she tightened around his cock, plunging herself up and down on it faster and harder as she drew nearer her peak, her free arm was behind her. She pulled his head back to her scarred breast with ease thanks to the new position. As he opened his mouth to take her in, something slick and cool suddenly pressed into him.

            Eyes going wide, he forgot to even breathe for a split second as her finger pressed harder against his tight entrance. Clenching instinctively, he tensed. Pain erupted through his body again only to blend into pleasure. Then her finger breached him with a smooth thrust. The burn was minimal compared to the new sensation of being invaded. Utterly still and breathless, he stared up at her as her finger worked deeper with a single-minded determination.

            Just as he began to grasp what was happening, she touched something inside him. White exploded within his vision as the touch sent him into euphoria. Nothing escaped him although his mouth hung open. All he could do was gasp and pant like a drowning man. His hips bucked upward, body forgetting the involuntary attempts to escape pain, only wanting that sensation again as he drove up to meet her thrusts.

            She toyed with him only briefly. Purposely avoiding that spot, then caressing and massaging it until all he knew was pleasure exploding within his body and the hot grip milking his release from him. Unable to get his breath, he surrendered to the darkness rising up to enfold him in an embrace which promised to last. Even as he fell into it, he heard her voice breathe into his ear...

            "You are mine now, Lyndon...forever..."

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Lyndon came awake with a gasp that left his head spinning. Bolting upright, he almost tumbled into the fire before catching himself. Sitting half on and half off his bedroll, his wide eyes darted around as he tried to catch his breath. There was no bed. There was no room. There were only dark trees around the campsite and a hint of stars visible through the canopy overhead. Across the fire were other bedrolls, his companions still slept. One of the spots was empty but it hardly seemed important.

            Calming himself down as reality took place of the dream, the scoundrel brought one hand up to scrub his face. The other bumped something that had fallen over the ankle sticking out from under the blanket. Looking down, he reached out to pick the journal up and get it further away from the fire. Righting the book, he glanced at the handwriting within. Memory returned. He had been reading it again. He must have fallen asleep.

            Setting Shandra's book near his pack, Lyndon found that there was another problem. Even if it had all been a dream, turning to put the journal away caused his pants to tug across his very hard, very erect member. Gasping--far more quietly than he had on waking--he quickly stilled and tried to adjust himself. It was nearly impossible as the moment he touched himself, he felt the dampness through his pants.

            All he could think about as he sat there, trying to keep from waking the others up, was the dream. None of that had happened in Caldeum. Where had all of that come from? Especially that last part. He had never...but it had felt good...and he should have had no clue about that. Shandra was not even there. She had been gone for days. So what had triggered the dream?


	9. Venture of the Past

            The howl of wind had died down. It was a vast relief to the senses, but it was also troublesome. Now the jagged landscape beyond the fortress walls held a new sense of menace. Even though there was no obvious motion, the lack of wind-driven chaff made every smaller hint of action drew more attention than it should. Guards were tense at their posts and going about their patrols. While none of them were overly jumpy, it held the promise of trouble.

            And soon enough, the first hint of that trouble reared its head. Tyrael turned as he heard someone approaching. One of the messengers entered the room with a harried pace. Moving away from the window, he faced the approaching warrior. He could not shake a small spark of trepidation about what news was about to be delivered.

            "Sir, the patrols have reported in. Two are still overdue. The last one in claimed they thought they saw some unusual activity near the far canyon but found no sign of life when they passed by."

            Motioning to the table spread with maps, Tyrael moved toward it. The messenger followed. He pointed two areas out, one to the north and another to the south.

            "The possible activity was sighted here," he said, pointing south.

            "Which patrol's route covered that area?"

            "Adnachiel's patrol."

            Tyrael looked up sharply at that. But the messenger continued as he pointed to the northern area.

            "Eligor's patrol was supposed to sweep this area. They are the other missing party. Also, one of the other patrol leaders insists on volunteering to go out and search for them."

            "That would be Mihael, correct?"

            "He is waiting outside now, sir."

            Nodding, Tyrael turned away from the table and headed for the doors. They had not been closed after the messenger so he had swift access to the hallway. Sure enough, Mihael stood a few yards away still bearing arms and turquoise-tinted wings flared.

            "Tyrael, I am one of the swiftest scouts. Please, let me have the chance to find our patrols," the young angel said.

            "Peace, brother. Since you are ready for battle and flight, you may go. But call for Rampel. He would never forgive you if you did not ask him to go as well. Bring Adnachiel and Eligor back safely. And call for aid if needed."

            One of the guards passing turned to offer the young angel a horn. Mihael's wings nearly vibrated with anxiety and anticipation as he accepted it. "Thank you, Tyrael!"

            Despite the severity of the situation, the Archangel could not prevent himself from a chuckle as the angel of Loyalty soared down the hall to an open window. When Mihael was out of sight, Tyrael sighed and shook his head. He could sense trouble brewing. It was too quiet in Pandemonium. The demon horde would be making a move soon. He only hoped it had not yet begun...

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Metal rang against metal and claws shrieked over the same. Roars were met by bone-crunching blows. Foul blood splattered the ground and smoked as it ate through the wind-tossed chaff on top of the stone. Light flashed and danced amongst the rocks and bulky shadows. A heartbeat of nothing and two forms exploded from the wall of rock to tumble into a clearing. More blood splattered, only it shimmered on the ground and emitted its own light.

            Rising upward, the demon released a roar of triumph--only to have its head fly away from its shoulders. The shining form pinned beneath the sagging corpse bucked. Grunting with the effort, the angel shoved the steaming lump off to one side. Another form dropped from several feet above to land beside the downed warrior. One arm extended and the fallen one took it.

            "On your feet, brother!" the savior's voice echoed. "We are not going to die here today."

            Pulling the bloodied angel up, the other turned to bring polearm up at the ready. Unlike the majority of uniform spears, the polearm had an actual blade along the point. Demon blood dripped from the shallow grooves along the blade as the warrior waited. Shortly, another flash of light shot through the newly made break in the rock wall to skid to a stop near the other two. A few drops of glowing blood fell from a break in the armor over the third's thigh.

            "There are too many! We have to get back to the fortress, sister!"

            Shaking her head, the savior adjusted her stance to come between the two males and the demons visible beyond the break.

            "Domiel, you've the stronger wings. Take Tabbris and get back to the fortress. Warn them of what we've seen!"

            "No, Adnachiel! I can still fight!" the wounded angel cried.

            "Do not argue with me! Go! I will delay them long enough for you to be well away," Adnachiel said as her violet-tinted wings flared outward to solidify like shields between them and the wall. "I will not fall here this day. But I cannot do this with you distracting me. Go!"

            Hesitating, Domiel finally backed away. Turning, he grabbed his brother and pulled the better arm across his shoulders. Even though Tabbris struggled, the other angel was stronger as he had sustained far fewer injuries. Leaping skyward, his wings flared to catch a wild blast of wind. It jerked the two away like a mad beast, casting them into the chaotic skies and barely allowing them to guide their flight.

            Glancing over her shoulder, Adnachiel watched them shrink into the distance. Relaxing now that she did not need to worry about anyone else, she turned her full attention back to the fight. Backing up, she scanned the clearing quickly to note the locations of holes, rocks, and the scattered debris of far older battles. Then the demons were pouring through the hole in the rock.

            "Come! I'll be the last thing you ever see!" she yelled as she leapt back into the fray.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            It had been quite the boring tour in Pandemonium thusfar. Although there had been several skirmishes near the fortress, no instructions to lay siege had been given. The angels had been quite happy to hole up within stone walls as well to all appearances. And the few patrols they sent out had been far too high to bring down for any fun. Everything would probably still be boring if not for the idiot that had let one beast free of its cage.

            Of course it had just had to coincide with one of the patrols passing by. The stupid thing had elected to attack them. And like the pitiful minions they were, the shock troops had followed the screeches of rage. Luckily, the beast had managed to actually bring one of the angels down. The others had followed like good little holy-rollers. It brought the rest of the division out of their lair to attack.

            All this had been delivered to him in a lazy report by one of the commanders seeking to curry favor. His response had been to behead the incompetent idiot. That left him to chase after the mob and bring them back to heel. Someone was going to suffer for this outrage...and he was not thinking of the angels either. There were several other commanders that would pay for not obeying his orders.

            Talons bit into rock as he climbed the sheer cliff to get to the top of the chasm. The winds tore at him but they were weak and hardly did more than fan his irritation. Racing forward, he quickly caught the scent of blood on the air and followed it to the sounds of massacre. The problem was, it was not the angels being massacred. Once he got to the edge of the precipice, he beheld a single angel on the ground below and in the open.

            Never in all his days would he forget such a beautiful sight. Adnachiel was as fierce and focused as he remembered her. Her skill had lain half a company to waste. She was skilled and driven. No longer was she the young angel struggling to find her place and balance in the world. She had matured into a warrior he could have been proud of. Pity she was on the wrong side, and that she remained to allow her fellows to escape--as there was no sign of the other two that formed a typical patrol.

            Just as he drew his sword and prepared to drop into the battle, something leapt upward from the chaotic mob. The dark blur arced in the air only to come down at the angel from above. Adnachiel was already spinning around as another demon fell at her feet. Metal met metal with a ring louder than thunder as she blocked the downward blow of the serrated axe blade. The greater weight of the demon bore her down to one knee but failed to send her to the ground.

            Grinning, Sonneillon bared his fangs at the smaller angel. She turned her head away from the vicious drool falling from his jaws. But she did not shrink or give ground. In fact, her back foot turned a little before she suddenly rose. The thrust did cause the demon of hate to stagger backward an inch. Adnachiel took it and was on her feet again as she shoved back against the axe only to spin. Sparks flew as metal shrieked along metal then they were apart.

            What followed was a blur of strikes from both opponents as the demon mob fell still in the face of the escalated battle. Apparently Sonneillon had surprised them instead of her. It served him right. And it did give her a small edge as she met her new adversary one on one. They were rather evenly matched. His commander bled from multiple slices and cuts while more glowing blood was staining the shimmering armor. But they had yet to get a single serious blow in on the other.

            He rose again to follow the two as they circled. From above he could see that his commander was turning her around and herding her back toward the overhanging rocks. A smart move. Should she be driven into the chasm once more, he would have the advantage. Then she sprang backward to avoid a downward chop. Wings flaring, she caught the air and rose upward. The rock forced her to stay near the ground.

            Instead of letting herself be trapped, Adnachiel twisted to bring her feet against the wall and kick off. What would have been a trap became an attack as Sonneillon barely managed to block the strike of her polearm with the flat of his axe. Following through, she curled to use her own momentum and get one foot on the grip of that axe over the massive hand. Kicking upward, she soared into the clear and twisted to face open sky. Unfortunately, the mob had shaken its shock off.

            A blast of flame from the horde slammed into her side and threw her ascent off. She was too close to the wall and crashed into the jagged stone. Crying out, she tumbled down to crash into the ground. Sonneillon brought his axe down on her back. The scream that rose jolted something within him so sharply he gasped. His commander only laughed as glowing blood splattered from freshly broken armor. Jerking the blade free, he gave her side a kick that sent her tumbling against some boulders.

            Suddenly, not even aware of why, he could watch no longer. Rising, he jumped forward to drop over the edge of the ledge. His landing was cushioned by a fleshy crunch and scream from the demon he landed on. The greater weight falling from so far above crushed the trooper and caused the rest of the mob to scatter. Sonneillon turned his head to glance at him before looking back to the angel and stabbing her with the wicked spike at the top of his weapon.

            "What in Belial's cock do you think you are doing, Sonneillon?" he growled as he straightened.

            "Having some fun with a faerie, what's it look like?" the other demon spat without looking up.

            That was when he brought his sword up and around. The blade shattered and lengthened into a serpentine tail as it sliced through the air. He struck at Sonneillon, letting the serrated edges strike his commander's back and bite deep before jerking his arm back. The demon released a scream of agony as the bladed whip tore his back to shreds of muscle and gore. He fell aside and whipped around to face his superior.

            "Do I look like I have the patience to deal with your insubordination, Sonneillon? Who let the sky horror out of its cage and who in the Hells gave you permission to lead our forces out of concealment in the first place?"

            Sonneillon finally seemed to remember who it was he faced and realize how pissed off his superior was. Dropping to his knees, he bowed his head--likely to conceal the spiteful sneer on his face.

            "My apologies, Lord Naberius. I only thought to prevent the spies from reporting our whereabouts!"

            He knew his sneer was concealed behind his own helm, but it still felt good. Giving his arm a sharp shake, he brought the whip back together to reform his sword. The solid blade came in under Sonneillon's chin, forcing his head up with the lethal edge rather than the flat of the blade. Leaning in, Naberius fixed his burning eyes on the hate-filled glare.

            "And you have done that. Good for you. But that hardly makes up for the fact you broke Lord Belial's orders as well as mine, and were stupid enough to let this rabble swarm into the open. Plus, where are the bodies of the other two? Angels patrol in threes."

            "They...escaped, my lord," Sonneillon ground out.

            "Escaped," Naberius spat. "Then you are forfeit."

            "What?! N--"

            Naberius drove the point of his sword into Sonneillon's throat, striking the bone and severing his spine. Ripping the blade to the side, he all but sliced his commander's head from his shoulders. It fell to the side where flesh continued to hold it to the crumpling body. Standing straight, the legion lord gave the falling corpse a kick that sent it sliding into the milling masses.

            "Return to the caverns! If I see so much as a single tail, horn, claw, tongue, tentacle, or weapon when I get back to the entrances, I will throw you into the pits of the lowest Hell myself!"

            Scrambling, the demon forces turned and ran. Many were trampled in the hasty retreat but even the injured managed to drag themselves out of his sight. In the span of a few breaths, they were gone. Not a one had the courage or stupidity to ask about the angel fallen nearby. At least they had that much intelligence to use. But he had not forgotten.

            Turning, Naberius fixed his crimson eyes on her. Despite her broken and bleeding body, she had dragged herself along the ground and nearly made it into the open while he had been preoccupied. Her wings were moving but one was nearly extinguished while the other was twitching more than flowing in idle motions.

            Resting the flat of his sword against his shoulder, he leisurely crossed the distance to her. As he approached, Adnachiel tensed and shifted onto her side to face him. If he had not been so intent on her, he might have missed the blow that nearly took out his knees. Jumping backward saved his limbs but still earned a deep slice along his left knee where his armor did not reach. Even if badly wounded and trapped, she was dangerous.

            He stepped toward her again with intent to completely disarm her. This time she lashed out with her good wing. Light flashed as it struck his arm and metal shrieked as it broke through to bloody the bicep beneath. Hissing, he swiftly grabbed her by her throat and wrenched her up from the ground into the air. The dagger she had concealed drove into his chest above the low neckline of his chest plate.

            Grabbing her arm with his free hand, he jerked it away, leaving the blade imbedded in his flesh. Her cry brought that same sharp jolt to his chest even as he pulled her in so their faces were but an inch away from one another. Rather, so his helm was an inch away from the elegant mask covering the shadow of her being beneath her hood.

            "Don't be stupid, Adnachiel."

            Something drove between his legs with such force it knocked the air from his lungs. The excruciating agony struck an instant later. Releasing a wheezing cry, Naberius crumpled forward. Adnachiel released her own pained cry when he collapsed on top of her battered body. She arched up away from the ground when her wounded back struck the sand, which caused her to buck against him. If not for the crippling torment of his crushed cock, he might have enjoyed it.

            "...fff-ucking bi-tch!" he broke off.

            Adnachiel jerked underneath his weight. Suddenly his chest was set aflame from her shoulder striking the dagger and driving it deeper. He barely managed to avoid the blow of her head coming up toward his by pulling back. But despite the agony and pain, he found he appreciated her unwavering determination, her fire to go down fighting. If he was not careful, she might just take him with her.

            "I will kill you, demon-spawn!" she spat.

            Ignoring the glowing blood staining the face of his helm, he finally regained enough control to get off her. Not that he moved his weight off her legs until he could flip her around and slam her face-first against the ground. Her cry was muffled, but her head came back in another strike. This time it connected and actually slammed his helmet's faceplate into his face hard enough to make his head ring.

            His grip must have loosened as when he managed to see straight again, she was on her hands and knees, bucking his body off. Quickly grabbing her around the waist, he stood, sweeping her off her feet and pivoting to slam her back down on the ground. This time she screamed as more of her blood splattered from the wound across her back. And this time, he took advantage to pin her down to the ground with legs trapped.

            Still, Adnachiel fought. There was no hint of desperation to it. If anything there was rage. Not the anger-induced rage, but that of the righteous. He could feel the difference. But she was growing weaker. Whether pain or blood-loss, she was succumbing even though her will fought on. He kept his hand at her throat, knees pinning her legs, tail lashing the air behind him as he waited.

            "What are you waiting for, fiend?" she strained to say past his grip.

            "For you to calm down," Naberius stated.

            His reply surprised her enough she did go still for a moment. Although he wanted to take advantage of it, he held still. This prey was going nowhere just yet. Besides, his chest still tingled with the strange jolts that had come with each of her screams. It was a strange sensation he barely remembered. One that no one else had managed to induce. He did not want to hear her scream...at least not in pain.

            "The moment you move, I will finish you," she wheezed at him.

            Belatedly, he realized he had begun squeezing her throat again. He eased his grip slowly. Finally, Naberius shook his head and sighed.

            "If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have let Sonneillon kill you. Of course, he would have toyed with you first."

            "And you're not toying with me?" she asked.

            It took him a moment to answer.

            "No."

            Adnachiel was silent at that. He only then realized she had ceased to struggle. In fact, she was still beneath his body. The scent of her blood, the feel of her armored form, the taste of her pain mingling with the flavor of his own blood, the fire of her defiance and spirit...it was appealing. He normally found such things to be delicious in his meals, but something was different with this one.

            "Why not?" she broke into his thoughts.

            "...maybe I'm bored of it all," he surprised himself by saying.

            "So this is a new game for your entertainment?" Adnachiel spat as she bucked beneath him, crying out in pain yet refusing to stop.

            Pulling her torso up, he slammed her back down against the ground. Another cry of pain broke free. This time it twisted in his chest as if she had physically grabbed the dagger and performed the same action. Shaking his head, he gave her a moment to recover so she would actually hear him.

            "No. It's my attempt to avoid garnering further injury from you before I let you go."

            That caught her attention. Naberius found he actually enjoyed when she went still beneath him. Perhaps it had been too long since he had a good fuck. She certainly had the proper shape for it. But there was that infuriating goodness radiating from her. That purity and...arrogance. For a moment he wanted to just tighten his hand and rip her head off, dispose of the damn light. His hand relaxed further instead.

            "Why?" she asked at last.

            "Because you managed to improve my mood today. So, I'm feeling generous."

            Her head turned slightly and he finally felt her attention come to bear on him. She was studying him--or rather his helmet. Unlike most demons, he wore full armor. Aside from the burning eyes behind the dark eye slits, she would see nothing.

            "Get off her, scum!" came from above.

            Naberius barely managed to throw himself aside before a glowing spear drove into the stone where he had been. The pained cry from his arms confirmed he had yanked Adnachiel with him. It was fortunate since the spear would have caught her had he not taken her with him. Springing to his feet, he spun around so his tail slammed into the side of the angel diving at him from above.

            The newcomer flew to the ground, skidding a distance away only to leap upward and dive again. But that moment of leeway was all Naberius needed to retrieve his sword. He blocked the next strike as he quickly moved aside. Risking a glance to Adnachiel, he saw a second angel had landed beside her and was scooping her up into his arms. He recognized the wings and the armor designs of both of her saviors.

            "Jealous, Mihael?" Naberius taunted. "Maybe if you weren't such a coward, I wouldn't have been able to catch her alone."

            Mihael growled and lashed out in a fury of blows. Despite the angel of Loyalty's fierce attack, the demon lord's guard was solid. He was hard pressed to keep the angel at bay but he did make a show of fighting for...her sake. The other angel--Rampel--had Adnachiel in his arms and was rising. Naberius snarled at the sudden surge of jealousy and rage that ignited where his chest still tingled from her screams.

            "Mihael! I have her. Pull back!" Rampel called as he leapt skyward.

            Naberius found himself possessed by a sudden chill when he saw the boneless way Adnachiel's body rested in Rampel's arms. Her head and limbs hung like a dead thing's as drops of glowing blood showered to the sands behind them. It cost him another bit of flesh as Mihael's spear drove through his shoulder near the dagger still resting there.

            The force behind the blow drove him into the rock wall. Grunting as the contact knocked the breath from his lungs, he snapped his wrist. His sword broke into that lethal whip and lashed at the angel. Mihael back winged, tearing his spear free of Naberius' body and soaring out of range of the wicked weapon.

            "This isn't over, demon," the angel swore before turning to fly after his departing comrades.

            Left bleeding but quite alive, Naberius glared after the rapidly shrinking figures. Reaching up, he finally grasped the dagger and wrenched it free of his chest. Toying with the bloody blade, he found himself smiling.

            "No, I think it's just beginning with you."

 

            ~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Tyrael gasped as his eyes snapped open. Caught in the grip of vertigo, he found himself sitting down heavily in the chair behind him. Then again, it had been placed there for that very purpose. His hands trembled faintly as he calmed his breathing and collected himself. Reorienting his awareness to the room he was within, he let his eyes close briefly as he went back over the things Chalad'ar had shown him.

            It was strange that the chalice seemed fixated on events so long in the past. He was not even certain what they had to do with his current problem. Still, matters had progressed to a point he could not simply discard the images revealed. Given he was unable to find sleep within the Heavens due to the constant light, he had nothing to do unless he sought further nightmares from his last visit to the Courts of Justice.

            Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and stood once more. Closing his eyes, he tried to reach the calm center that had been all but lost since his return to the Angiris Council in the stead of Wisdom. Although it was fleeting, he managed to touch upon it. The beat of his heart steadied and his breathing evened out. Opening his eyes, Tyrael leaned forward to look into the Pools of Wisdom once more and learn what they sought to impart upon him.


	10. Revelation Unfurled

            "Is that it?"

            The voice dripped with scorn that flooded her ears. Groaning, she forced her head to turn, spitting out the mouthful of foul earth gained by her rough landing. Her head spun as she forced her trembling limbs to move. A sharp kick to her side sent her tumbling over broken rock to wind up on her back staring at the void that took the place of the sky. The blow served to force air from her lungs so she could cough and clear grit and blood from her airway.

            "Is that really all the ferocity you can muster?"

            Sucking in another breath, she forced her lungs to expand and draw deep on the sulfuric fumes. Her chest seized with the want to cough. She denied it. Instead, she twisted her head around to glare at her tormenter. The massive humanoid form stalked around her with sword resting easily over one spiked shoulder. Burning eyes glared at her from the broken faceplate of a nightmarish helm.

            "Pathetic!"

            Gravel skittered and rolled in a sudden tide as she forced her battered body to move. Feet up, legs straight then bending sharply, body cracking like a whip. She flipped back up to her feet. More loose grit slid beneath her boots but she used it to slide into a crouch as she brought her weapon up to bear. The world still spun around her but her vision was anchored to her opponent. It did not prevent her from being sent flying once more when the serpentine tail came around to slam into her legs and take them out from under her.

            Wings flaring, she turned her fall into a rise. Flipping in the air, she soared upward. Twisting, she spun as she arced to dive back down. Metal struck metal with an ear-jangling clap of thunder. Naberius was sent down to his knees by the force. A shining boot struck him under his jaw, snapping his head backwards and breaking the weapon-lock. Another blow as she somersaulted in the air struck his chest and sent him into the rock wall behind.

            It was her body that met his, driving him back against the stone as dark blood splattered at the contact. Coughing, he looked down to find the shimmering blade impaling him. The already battle-scarred armor had finally given and broken beneath her blade. When he shifted, he felt the pain lance away from the metal that pinned him to the rock face. But it was not a mortal blow. It was too far to the side. Of course, she was there, the sharp edge of her shield slicing into the flesh on the other side of his neck.

            "You have not begun to see my rage, demon," she growled at him.

            "Then why did you miss, Adnachiel?" he asked, spitting blood toward her.

            She ignored the foul liquid striking her chest plate. It hissed and smoked as it burnt away but did no harm. The shimmering mask pressed closer to his helm as the light darkened his sight.

            "Who said I missed?"

            The angel gave him no time to do more than freeze and stare at her. Then she wrenched her blade back and free. An agonized roar erupted from the demon lord as she pulled back. He fell to his knees as one hand covered the new break in his armor and the dark blood pumping from the hole. It looked far worse than it truly was. That much was evident when Naberius lifted his head to look at his long-time nemesis/plaything.

            "Who is playing games now, angel?" he coughed.

            "I had a very thorough teacher," she replied.

            "So, what game are you going to play with me?" he asked as he started to struggle back to his feet.

            Adnachiel was wounded as well, but not as badly as he was this time. Now that he was forced to look, he realized that although her armor was splattered with glowing blood, her wounds were not as large as he had thought. She truly had been playing with him! The realization both thrilled and irritated him. But, she had currently gained the upper hand for once.

            "No game."

            The glowing sword still stained by his blood lowered. Her shield-arm also lowered although it was clear she had not completely lowered her defenses or her guard. He had to admire her yet again. Naberius found himself doing the one thing he had never once imagined he would ever do. He placed the tip of his sword on the ground, then released it, pushing the hilt toward her as he sank back to his knees and pressed against his latest deep wound.

            "What is it then, Adnachiel? Surely you desire vengeance for all the times I've gotten the upper hand with you."

            She tilted her head to one side. His burning gaze slid over her body then back to her hooded mask as her wings shifted behind her.

            "Why do you do this, Naberius? Why...all these games, why always me? There are others who were of more challenge to you than I was when you started this...twisted game. Why did you save me when your lieutenant could have just finished me then?"

            He found himself chuckling. Those were questions he had anticipated. And they were the very ones he had asked himself after the fourth time he had purposely singled her out to toy with. Although she had been a good fighter, she had never been on the same level he had. Not until this day.

            "If you do find the answer to those questions, little angel, would you pass them on to me as well?"

            "You mean you don't know?" she asked, wings flaring incredulously.

            "You are beautiful," fell from his lips before he was aware of it. "Your power, your ferocity, your rage...why do you yet stay with them? You have more fire within your breast than a hundred of them could ever hope to muster."

            Naberius knew it was one of the worst attempts ever at seducing or tempting anyone, but...ever since he had first seen her again after so long...everything had changed. And just as he wanted to toy with her, he wanted...more.

            Adnachiel saw through the weak attempt. Her wings shifted forms before relaxing behind her as she continued to just stare at him. Something had changed. Not just a new-encounter change, a scale-tipping change. This was the first time she had ever turned the tables on him. Always before something had held her back or prevented her from fighting at level. Now he found himself wondering if it was her or him.

            "Playing games is one thing," she said, drawing his attention back to her. "But surrendering is something else. I remember you too, Naberius. And you would never do such a thing. Ever."

            He had no answer to that and no reply to give. She did not seem to need one as she stepped toward him. Her sword rose as she kicked his weapon away. Perhaps she was falling after all, whether she knew it or not. It pleased him. But in the same moment that thrill of long work paying off touched him, there was a flicker of despair that he had tainted her purity of will. The shock left him momentarily stunned and he blinked only to find her blade across his throat.

            "Go on, Adnachiel. You've earned your victory," he said as he tipped his head back to bare his throat to her blow.

            Instead, he was blinded as her wings closed around him. Pain exploded within his head and burned along his exposed flesh. Icy talons raked under his armor, clawing at his body as another roar burst free of his lips. Lips that were suddenly pressing against something else. For the first time in centuries, Naberius truly did find the scales tipped as his eyes snapped open to find the angel...was kissing him.

            When she drew back, his mostly blinded eyes saw his blood staining the face of her mask. Confusion struck even as his tongue darted out over raw lips. He tasted...it was indescribable. Poison never tasted so sweet and so bitter. The flesh of his lips bore new texture amidst the throbbing sensation and he recognized it as burns over his scarred flesh. Scarred--healed.

            "Adnachiel..." he whispered roughly as his heart hammered within his chest.

            "Naberius," she replied. Then her shield arm rose and a shining gauntlet extended toward him, palm up.

            "You are not the only one bored of this ceaseless fighting. There are others weary of it as well," she said.

            Hesitantly, he brought his bloodied hand up. But he continued to stare into the shadowy confines of her mask. The tainted blood sputtered and hissed as their palms touched.

            "What are you doing, little angel?" he ventured.

            Her hand curled to take a firm hold on his. Naberius was no fool. He was heavy under his own power. The armor made him even heavier. Yet, she drew him up to his feet without noticeable trouble. Had Adnachiel truly grown stronger without him realizing?

            "Come with me, Naberius. Or, if you do not trust me, seek out another you doubtless know well."

            Suspicion and mistrust ate at him, tore at his mind. Yet think as hard as he could, he could not come up with a reason for her to pull a deception. She was still among the Heavenly Host. And even if bruised from his constant manipulations over the long conflicts, she remained pure. She reeked of it. And it was a scent he found he had come to enjoy, even long for during the times of idle between major battles.

            "Who?"

            "Amongst your ilk, her name is Lilith."

            That made him straighten with a start. He ignored the flare of pain from his wounds and the renewed flow of blood to stare at her.

            "You have spoken with Lilith?" he hissed. That might explain why she was able to beat him this time just as he had been certain he was once again the victor.

            "No," she stated calmly. Almost too calmly. "But plans have been put into motion. This is your one chance. No more silly games. Something new. Something different. Are you up to the challenge, Naberius? Or...will I finally beat you when I accept it?"

            Crafty little angel indeed! He found himself grinning despite his injuries. Even if this might be a trap, it was appealing. After all, there were always things the angels would never do even if their ancient foes would. And Adnachiel had only recently begun to play his games and show improvement. Every enemy she dispatched had met a clean death devoid of prolonged suffering.

            "I will have you on your back again soon, little angel," he growled. "Show me your challenge!"

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Adnachiel bowed her head, frowning within the deep hood as she listened to Inarius and Lilith fighting yet again. She remained outside the doorway to the chamber as they argued. Of course it was natural. Despite fleeing Pandemonium and the Eternal Conflict, angels and demons could not help but clash when matters brought their opposing natures into play. She had learned this lesson very well.

            The sounds of flesh striking flesh and blows being traded finally made her turn away from the door. Another argument transformed into a physical fight that likely would wind up either with them storming their separate ways or rutting as only beings of light and dark could rut. It made no difference to her. Other thoughts weighed heavily upon her mind. Problems were brewing that needed a solution fast to prevent their sanctuary from being consumed in war.

            She was so preoccupied she missed the shadow coming from a hallway she passed. A powerful arm wound around her waist and she yelped in surprise as it drew her back against a hard, warm body. Naberius growled a playful warning only to chuckle when her elbows drove back against his midriff hard enough to make him stagger. Not that he released her. And the struggle was short-lived.

            "I told you to stop doing that," she groused.

            Nodding behind her head, he leaned in to drag his fangs against the hood. "I know."

            Her posture in his embrace changed and he found himself distracted from the game he had begun to play. Straightening, he tilted his head to look down at her. She was staring off into the distance. That would not do. But as he heard a crash echo down the hallway she had come along, he caught onto the reason for her mood.

            Rather than toy further, he shifted to sweep the angel up off her feet. She yelped in surprise and reflexively grabbed his neck. One breath was interrupted before she relaxed her grip. They were both too familiar with battle to curb all instant retaliation in their actions. But he enjoyed it even if she would take it out of his hide later.

            "I can walk," she said plainly and smacked his helm.

            "So? You can also fly. Just like I can carry you."

            Folding her arms across her chest, Adnachiel huffed but permitted him to continue. That was his first clue that whatever was on her mind was serious. That meant dangerous. He hastened his pace toward their own personal quarters. When behind closed and warded doors, they would speak. Not before.

            When they reached their chambers, he used his tail to close and bar the doors behind him. Heading to their room, he took a quick look to make certain none of their children were about. Only then did he climb onto the bed and drop her. She did not make a sound this time as she had been ready for such a gesture. Instead, she surprised him by reaching up to yank his helmet off and toss it aside before laying back.

            Frowning, he crawled over her body and sank down. Neither cared that their armor made the position less than comfortable. Her hands found his head and gently caressed the burnt nightmare of flesh. In turn, his arms closed around her waist to pin her down as he stared into the shadows of the hood.

            "What is it, Adnachiel?" he finally asked.

            "They are fighting again," she answered.

            "Lilith still wants the children as her personal army," he muttered, knowing this old argument.

            She nodded. "But this is different. Inarius slipped and said something else, although I know she missed it given how she was yelling at him."

            "What did you hear, little angel?"

            "He's responsible. I'm certain he's used the Worldstone to cripple our children."

            Naberius was silent after that as her hands ran over his head slowly to caress the scaly locks of his hair. For a time, both were lost in thought. Then, rage rose the likes he had not felt for a long time. She had to have felt something because her hands grabbed his head to force him to look up at her.

            "No," was all she said.

            "I'll challenge him for this insult!" the demon lord snarled.

            "No, Naberius," she said calmly. "It's too late for our firstborn. But I have an idea to help protect the rest."

            Burning eyes narrowed as they regarded her. In their years together, he had found that the angel of Independence was not merely a handful, but a rival of equal caliber to whomever she felt was a challenge. Not unlike himself, truly. She was crafty and cunning despite that still-untamable streak of purity.

            "Convince me why I shouldn't rip him to shreds for this."

            "Some of us paid closer attention when working in the archives where certain Scrolls are stored. And sometimes, what one says to be true...is interpreted differently by another set of eyes."

            There was that scent. It sparked instant interest as he took a deep breath. The flavor made his blood stir and desire ignite. She had to know it as well because he sensed her smiling. The firm press of her shin against his twitching cock through his kilt helped a good deal as well.

            "Naughty little angel, what would the rest of your brethren think?"

            "The same that yours would think of you, should they learn of your quirks."

            "Quirks?" he asked.

            "What other demon lord has a sense of honor...and the ability to be gentle?"

            That...sobered him a little. But her hands were sliding over his shoulders and his armor was falling away thanks to her skilled fingers.

            "Never speak of such again, Adnachiel," he whispered near her ear.

            "I promise, your secret has always been safe with me, Naberius."

            Relaxing as her leg slid between his to do more devilish things than an angel should be capable of, he growled. Her chuckle rose as she shifted beneath his burn-marked body to slide her hands down his chest and stomach toward his waist.

            "Are you certain you aren't yet one of us?" he asked as her hand closed around him.

            "Perhaps there is a little demon in me...as there is a little angel in you," she answered as her essence began to solidify beneath him so he could start divesting her of her own armor.

            "Victory is victory," he grumbled.

            Her answer was to caress the two deep furrows on the side of his neck where her shield and her sword had sliced the day she had first managed to defeat him. A reminder that it had not been the last. And a thrill because regardless of the scales being tipped, no defeat had ever been so sweet.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Mihael felt as if his heart had been torn from his chest as the line of bound angels passed. They were no longer as they had been, but no one could mistake them for anything but of the Host. What hurt the most was that at the end of the line...was the one he had thought long dead within Pandemonium. He barely managed to keep from trembling with the overwhelming emotion as sentence was passed over each traitor they had captured.

            Finally, however, judgment was passed and Adnachiel was pulled to her feet to follow the last of the others. He was the vanguard, so naturally he had to take charge of her and take her after the others. The destination was the Burning Hells. Her sentence...damnation. But her betrayal hurt almost as much as the pain at knowing she was still alive. Torn, he could not say or do anything but grab her chained arm and pull her along.

            As they left the council chambers behind, silence enfolded them. Only her stumbling footfalls broke it along with the clanking music of her chains. Every step they took brought them closer to the gates. Every step only made another pulse of pain and sorrow. He found himself wanting to cry, to scream, to rage...but fought to control all of the reactions. The only sign he was failing was the slight vocal protest from her as he squeezed her arm too tightly.

            "Mihael," she murmured.

            Suddenly, he turned and pulled her into his arms for a fierce hug.

            "Adnachiel...why? What in the Heavens...why did you do this? How could you do this?"

            His embrace brought another pained sound but he could not ease his grip. Nor could she return it or fight it.

            "I'm tired, Mihael," her whisper came.

            Straightening, he withdrew, keeping her steady until she could regain her balance. She had changed in all those years away, in the place the rebels had created and named Sanctuary. More physical now than an angel should be, she had a face. It was...beautiful despite the scratches received during the fight to capture the turncoats on both sides. Far more beautiful than the mask she usually wore.

            "How could you do this? Do you have any idea what happened? How long we looked, how hard we fought to find any trace of you? Rampel--"

            "I'm sorry," she broke off. "But I...I couldn't do it anymore, Mihael. Always fighting, never-ending. The more things changed, the more I realized that...in the end, no matter what we did or how we fought...eventually they would simply outnumber us. What's the point in fighting that?"

            Mihael could not believe what he was hearing from her lips. It was the same as if Auriel had gone silent. The hopelessness even pulled at him briefly just from listening. He could not help but pull her into a hug once more, this one more conscious of her injuries and physical state. Her head moved to rest on his shoulder and he felt warmth flood him as the pain in his chest eased a little.

            "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

            "I couldn't. You...weren't ready. All you cared about was the battle."

            He heard the truth in her words. It brought the ache back once more.

            "Mihael," she whispered near his helm. "I'm sorry for...what this did to you. But, I fear I need to ask you one thing."

            "I cannot release you, Adnachiel."

            She shook her head slightly, rolling it against his shoulder. "No. Not that."

            Pulling back, he looked at her as she rested her forehead against his chest. She was far shorter in physical form than she had once been. But it was a moot point now.

            "I want to ask you...to watch over my children," she finally said.

            That made him tense in surprise. Although he had seen the world the rebels had made, looked upon the humans himself, he had been too lost in the realization his best friend was amongst the traitors to really notice much else.

            "Your...children?" he asked almost numbly.

            "They are on Sanctuary. I know that they will be in danger now that it's revealed. Protect them, if you can. Let them...live out their lives in peace. They have no place in this war, they are innocent."

            Mihael was silent. The request...he could not hope to consider all the consequences or ramifications. Then another fact hit him.

            "...you...laid with one of them?"

            "I did. Willingly," she was looking into the eyes of his helm now. There was a fire within them, one he knew better than he knew his armor or his blade. That was her spirit, the undying will that made her Adnachiel. "But our children should not bear our sins."

            "I--"

            "Mihael, what is wrong?" called an angel from the end of the hall.

            "Nothing!" he called without thinking.

            "I fell, my injuries hinder me!" Adnachiel called a moment afterward. The lie was blatant to the angel of Loyalty but it was so smooth the other nodded and opened the door for them.

            Nothing more was said until they had taken the portal back to Pandemonium where the prisoners from both sides were gathered. The Hells would be their prison and torture chamber for the rest of their existences, demon and angel alike. But only one could go through the Gates at a time. It bought them a few more moments.

            "Please, Mihael!" she whispered.

            "Adnachiel...I..." hesitating, he looked toward the gathering. "I will."

            "Promise!" she hissed.

            "I promise. I will watch over your children," the angel said with a heavy heart and heavier soul.

            She pressed against his chest again as her bindings prevented her from embracing him. He pulled her into a hug instead.

            "Thank you. There is just one other thing."

            A strange new sense of dread took hold. Mihael gripped her shoulders, pushing her back to stare hard into her face.

            "When I approach the portal, stand back."

            "Why?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

            "I won't do anything, Mihael."

            She said nothing more. He could not take his eyes off her. Finally, it was her turn to pass through the gates. There was only a small space between the Heavenly Gate and the Hell Gate. Normally it would not be so easy to cross. But both Heaven and Hell were outraged by this and the truce had permitted such a transfer. The moment the deal was done, the Gates would return to their various locations under the normal heavy guard.

            One final tight hug that was permitted by the watchful guardians. Releasing her, Mihael helped her up the first step then had to step back. Beyond the gate, in the void between, there was motion. The demon to take charge of her was coming. And although he pulled back, the angel of Loyalty found himself taking a step forward as the dark shadow reached out for Adnachiel. He could not just let her go.

            The step became a run when the demonic shadow suddenly drew one arm back. Mihael saw the burning, serrated blade come into the light. His cry of alarm came too late as the sword drove forward to plunge into Adnachiel's chest and break through her back. She did not cry out. Her knees gave and she crumpled forward into her killer's arms. It shattered the remaining illusion as Naberius caught her carefully in his arms.

            "In life or death, you are mine! Always mine! No other will have you!" he screamed. Tears of molten fire fell down his scarred cheeks, visible beneath the helm where they gathered along his jaw and fell down his throat and onto his chest plate.

            Mihael reacted without thinking. All he saw was the demon that had tormented Adnachiel every fight in Pandemonium run her through. The pain of believing she was dead, of finding out her betrayal, of hearing she had lain with a demon, of realizing she had children...of the undeniable fact he had lost her completely...drove him to strike Naberius.

            The glowing blade nearly screamed through the air to put voice to the pain of its master as it sliced through the demon lord's neck to sever head from shoulders. He only realized a moment later that Naberius had been sinking to his knees to lower the dying angel to his lap when the headless corpse toppled backward. Adnachiel's body fell to rest on his lap as the sword impaling her caught to keep her partially upright.

            Flinging his own blade aside, Mihael pulled her up. Her pained gasp made him pull her back to his chest to cradle.

            "I'm sorry, Adnachiel, so sorry," he choked out.

            "...scatter...his ash...over...Sanctuary, Mihael. Swear it!" she gasped.

            He felt the light within her fading. It slid from his grasp the way her blood spilled through his fingers.

            "I swear! Adnachiel!"

            But she was already gone. Even if her body had been re-fashioned of physical means, it was dispersing. The blood remained, tarnishing his armor and shield with a glowing violet-white. Her body crumpled upon itself as the light rose. Mihael was left on his knees beside the slowly crumbling corpse of Naberius as the angel he had loved and never told rose into the air and faded like mist before the sun.

            No one would realize until much later...no angel came forth from the Crystal Arch to replace the fallen Angel of Independence...

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Tyrael fell back into his chair panting. His head spun and throbbed with the last vision from Chalad'ar. But along with the memory of what he had seen and felt in the detached way of the observer, came a new knowledge. Adnachiel and Naberius had been as clever as Lilith and Inarius. In their own way, they had given their children--the nephalem they bore--a great gift. From Adnachiel came the independence of spirit that their distant descendants had so powerfully. From Naberius...

            Briefly, his mind flashed back to that odd dying request. Looking back into the chalice, he watched as Mihael slipped back to Sanctuary in secret. Only he did not spread the demon lord's ashes over the world. He dropped them in one place. And from those ashes, formed stones. The physical locks to something he could not quite see. Strange golden-marble stones with gems in their hearts. The markings on each differed, but the designs were uniform.

            A flash of phantasmal blue blinded him, causing him to sit back as the echo of a voice in his mind warned him he could not pass. He was not nephalem. And as he rubbed his eyes, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Tyrael shoved himself upright in the chair and stared at Chalad'ar. It revealed nothing more, remaining a simple chalice filled with water.

            "The nephalem...she's still alive."

            Chalad'ar pulsed with a pale golden light, satisfied.


	11. Burning Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a song for inspiration to trigger my muse this chapter. I do not claim the song or lyrics in any way. The song is "World on Fire" by Les Friction. I borrowed the lyrics for inspiration and to help add better feel and atmosphere to my writing. No money is made from any of this, it's purely for pleasure.

            He was in darkness. It was absolute. Not merely a black void that blinded. The darkness encompassed him and swallowed every sense. It consumed his mind until he was aware of nothing else. Nothing but the heat. Heat followed by the distant roar of fires that burned for miles. Just as he had learned of the black void, suddenly it was withdrawing to allow the noise and feel to touch him. Awareness then. It came to him at last as his mind opened with the retreat of the smothering pitch.

            An inferno surrounded him, filling the air with ash and ember-clinging chaff. It painted the dark sky red and formed great maws of demonic fury lining jagged and uneven paths stretching into the distance. A great plane of damnation. And he stood upon the blackened stone with his feet upon the ashes of a forest decimated. Within the sky, the half moon was red with blood where it tried to hide its face within the very darkness that had left him stranded within this hell. Smoke burned his nose and should have made his eyes water. He felt only the heat, heard only the roar of the unstoppable beast. Nothing else touched upon him.

            Alone, aloof from the devastation he could witness but not partake in, his attention caught upon something else that had no place in such a cursed environment. Movement that belonged to no falling tree or seared earth collapsing into the molten pits of flame. It rose from the darkness, emerged between columns of billowing smoke that twisted away from it as if bowing to the thing's rise. He watched the shadow condense, casting away the tatters of wildly flailing light and flame to set foot upon the jagged black path.

_...I'll return from darkness and save your precious skin..._

            Golden eyes emerged from the dark smoke. They burned like the hearts of the fires devouring even the crests of the stone. As the shroud of smoke thinned and shrank away from the next step, a harsh wind blasted over pit and pillar to rip away the most daring of blazes from their heaven-kissed perches. They were extinguished in a roaring hiss of despair. With the figure came the wind, as cold as a demon's heart and twice as vicious as the inferno. It tore the flames from their spoils to cast them into oblivion.

_...I will end your suffering..._

            Brought with the chill that warred with the heat still surrounding his senses was another sound. Wails and screams of loss, of pain and despair. He heard the tears of women and men falling like rain--which was absent from the field where fires were being snuffed before the creature. He could almost taste the blood upon his tongue as the wind tore at his senses to mock and torment him with a familiar taste of death. And still the shrouded form approached as more and more clouds of smoke filled the wind-swept skies.

_...and let the healing light come in..._

            That wind suddenly changed. It turned to rush past him, sending that ashen chaff and dying embers back toward the figure upon the path. Smoke was torn backward, ripped away from the silhouette and grabbing the long cloak to send it whipping upward and away from the creature like nightmarish wings. Armor shimmered and glinted in the dying light, painted crimson by the last throes of what had been a wildfire. But he could not mistake it, could never have forgotten that armor.

            White was illuminated by the sorrowful moon as it finally peeked out from behind the shroud of night it had pulled over its face. Full and white, a stain of crimson clung to the edges to embrace it in a fire-washed pink of blood upon snow. And it mirrored the armor embracing the figure of the demon hunter as she advanced along a dark path. Still, the dying embers dared cast their bloodied light upon the gold gilding the angelic purity as that black cloak whipped upon the wake of the icy winds.

_...sent by forces beyond salvation..._

            He suddenly felt the cold more keenly when he gazed upon her glowing gaze. It was a chill that stabbed into his heart like a dagger, spreading the creeping claws of fear through his chest. Fear that rose upward to close about his throat like clawed hands robbing him of breath. For those golden eyes...were slitted like the eyes of a serpent...or a demon. Red filled their hearts, thick and heated like blood rather than the inferno that had just been so easily extinguished.

_...world on fire with a smoking sun..._

            Nearer she drew and colder he felt himself grow. The wails and laments deafened him. Heat still stung where it had seared his senses, leaving only the chill of fear within. Ash stirred in her wake, rising on the gusts to billow behind her like her cloak. But it was when she was but yards away he saw something else that robbed his heart of life. While in one hand she held her bladed longbow, in her other something heavy was dragging along the path and disturbing the blackened refuse that had settled.

_...brace yourself for all will pay...help is on the way..._

            It was a wing. A wing that was supposed to be white and pure. The wing of a great bird of prey now stained by streaks of black with feathers singed where it had come too near the edge of the dead blazes. The base was gripped in her hand. Her glove was stained red by the fresh blood still oozing from the stump where it had been hacked off. Chains trailed from the thin bracelet of gold about her wrist to other rings of metal along the primary edge as if she had been bound to it.

            The moon was gone. The blink of an eye and the source of light within the night was lost. Embers still struggling to burn against the wind barely illuminated the mass of clouds billowing through the heavens. The choked the skies, boiled and frothed as the storm built. Cold mingled with hot as the winds shattered. Scattered, the gusts blew chaotically back and forth in any direction they wished. And he heard the distant rumble of thunder growing louder and louder like an encroaching wave crashing over endless rocks unhindered.

            _...I will cup you when the sky comes crashing in..._

            Lightning blinded him as the heavens exploded. The thunder deafened him to all but the frantic beating of his own heart. He had barely realized the loss of sight and sound before a hand as hot as the inferno cupped his cheek. A mouth was upon his and all he knew was the taste of her lips and tongue as she consumed him. The world around him spun out of all control as he felt blood stain his flesh where she touched him and her power devouring the cold to re-ignite the flame that had seared his soul.

_...I'll go the distance, lead the way to your darkest sin..._

            Her hands were upon his body as he opened his eyes to find her above him. Her body rose and fell in a carnal dance as she rode him. Every time she moved his body rose beneath her, hands wandering over bare flesh that burned and possessed him. The tight heat, the wet grip, the dance of her body rocking and writhing against him to pull him closer to that precipice where molten flame leapt toward the heavens with enraged passion. He saw the fires growing as the dark earth gave way to the enraged passion.

            Sharp fingernails raked down his bared flesh, raising trails of hot need behind. Every pulse of his flesh within her was met by that wordless command for more. Blood glistened with sweat upon their skin as ash became soot smeared in black marks of hands and fingers upon their bodies. Her breasts rose and fell with every breath she took, taunting and tempting him as her bloody hand cupped the full swell to pinch the pert nipple. And he was helpless to resist her demands.

            The storm raged over her head as his own fell back onto charred ground. Her body rose again, full lips parted in a voiceless gasp for breath. Even as his palms found her hips so fingers could curl around to feel how her buttocks clenched and moved in their full curves beneath his touch, the skies opened to unleash the rain. Frigid, fresh, needle-sharp raindrops mingled with something far hotter, thicker, richer. The blood-mingled rain hissed as each drop struck the ravaged ground to release a reeking cloud of vapors which began to replace the smoke finally searing deep into his lungs.

_...oh, you know there's something coming down from the sky above..._

            A cry of pain left her as her back arched. He bucked upward, thrusting harder and deeper. Her fingernails left bloody trails upon his chest as a hot, thick liquid splashed over his legs. As she clenched around him, body pulling him over the edge when her wetness tipped the world, he saw her change. Fire raced along her naked flesh, searing its writhing brand into one perfect breast, caressing her face, coiling about her thigh. And from behind rose a single pinion of charred flesh and bone.

            Unable to do more than thrash and buck through his release, his mouth was open beneath the bloody storm until the thick metallic taint was all he could smell or taste. He watched in horror and lust as that single pinion clawed its way up, straining toward the heavens while bloody tissue stretched and thickened to form a freshly borne leathery wing. Claws stained deep red glowed in the light of the rebirthed inferno as they sliced through the winds to cast them screaming into the abyss.

_...world on fire with a smoking sun stops everything and everyone..._

            Panting, gasping for breath, he collapsed beneath her. Yet, she was far from spent as her flesh glowed a crimson orange in the light of the flames. Rising, her single wing flared outward, shielding him from the nightmarish downpour. Staring up at her in horror and desire, he watched his seed trickle down her inner thighs as she pulled her right arm forward. The golden chain brought the severed wing dragging forward as the rain washed it clean of ash. Blood seeped from the base of the intact joint.

            Before his disbelieving eyes, the wing flexed, beating itself upon the cursed ground as the feathers began to glow in a familiar heavenly brilliance. From avian thing to a wing of ever-shifting light tinted a violet-red. Its light shimmered off the demonic pinion on her back as it darkened into black and red. The severed wing flopped closer to him and he finally glimpsed the broken link in the golden chain. A link about to slip free, breaking the thread that yet bound her to its purity.

            Hide cracked sharply against the wind. It brought his attention back to her--and then the heavens behind her. The black clouds still boiled, the lightning still flashed bright and electric blue. But from the storm fell...angels. One. Then another. Then two. Then five. A dozen. Screams pulled his attention to the ground as demonic creatures burst upward from volcanic pits, writhing and thrashing only to land upon the jagged black paths and crumble into so much greasy ash.

_...brace yourself, for all will pay..._

            Just as her knees flexed, he found his paralysis gone. Lunging forward, he grabbed for the chain near him. His hand closed around the chain, covering the broken link. She leapt skyward--and the chain jerked from his grasp, ripping the flesh of his palm open. A demonic roar of rage left her throat as she rose into the storm on the single wing. But...the other trailed behind like a single spark of hope leaving a trail of shimmering light behind. His blood upon the chain...kept the link strong and intact as it glowed with all the warmth and goodness of the sun in the darkness.

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Lyndon came awake with a gasp so sudden and sharp it hurt something deep inside. Coughing, he gagged as the taste of blood nearly choked him away from the air his lungs were demanding. Wildly looking around, there was no sign of rain or fire, no hint of blood or ash, even the skies were clear with stars winking in their distant vigil. It took a while for the reality of it all to sink in. All was quiet and calm. His heartbeat and frantic breathing began to settle and at last he could pick out the softer sounds of crackling wood from the low-burning fire and the rush of water from the falls nearby.

            A pale golden light came from the shattered obelisk just down the hill near the entrance to the nephalem temple. The colder blue illumination from the spectral guardian standing in his tireless watch. The scoundrel saw that the only things that had changed was the ghost-thing had turned his head as if to stare at him. Managing a grin and cheeky wave, he turned to add a little more wood to the fire. It was a shaky pretense at best but it was also habit. And it did help to calm his frazzled nerves down a little.

            It had been a dream--a nightmare--unlike anything he had ever had before. Not even the last one with the non-existent events in Caldeum held a candle to this one. And when he found nothing else to pretend to do, Lyndon found himself staring at the sky to reassure himself of the presence of the stars and lack of any storm. Not that he could hope to let it go so easily. His gaze was drawn to the obelisk where the rift was contained. Shandra was on his mind as she had been for the past week.

            He was not an overly superstitious sort. Of course he knew of demons and angels, saw first-hand what they could do. He had witnessed what others did in their names. He was a believer in magic and things that went bump in the night. But somehow his nightmare dwarfed them all. It left him feeling very, very afraid...without the ability to pin down an exact reason why.

            "Well now," came a strange, echoing voice like sand pouring over stone. "Isn't this a surprising development?"

            Lyndon tensed and instinctively reached for his crossbow before he got ahold of himself. Instead, he drew the weapon close to examine the string before sending a look toward the faint, sand-tinted phantom taking form near the edge of the camp site near his pack.

            "Your young nephalem's abilities grow in leaps and bounds. She is truly is more powerful than I gave her credit for. A pity she has no clue how to control it, let alone put that power to proper use."

            He chose not to reply as he slipped the string to tighten a few knots and re-string the weapon with a need to pull back with more strength to get the crossbow properly cocked. It was a ploy that seemed to work as the specter of Zoltun Kulle's memory wavered closer. From the corner of his eye, the scoundrel saw the phantom was staring toward the obelisk and smiling in an oily manner even Lyndon would never use despite his typical tricks.

            "I would be careful, even if I am not you. You may just be forced to take her down if she cannot uncover the key to the nephalem's true power. Should she grow much stronger, she may just make Diablo and the rest seem like children throwing tantrums. Perhaps the greater pity is that you no longer travel with those who might just pose a threat to her. While they remain lazy and content in this respite, she burns more brightly. A demon is easy to take down. A god?"

            Dark laughter filled the campsite and made the air thick and difficult to breathe. But the specter was fading, scattering to unfelt winds as sand in a storm. In less time than it took to blink twice, he was gone. Only his final words lingered, fading away far less quickly.

            "A god never truly dies..."

 

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

            Miles away, another woke from the same nightmare. Kormac could not stop the shivers that wracked his body. He was chilled to the bone despite the sweat that formed from the smothering heat of his bedcovers. Throwing them away, he let the air turn that sweat cold as he crossed to the nearly dead hearth. Attempting to slow the racing beat of his heart and the panicked pace of his breath, he turned up the lanterns and collapsed into the chair before the small table.

            Eventually, his chills eased then ceased between one heartbeat and the next. Still trying to catch a breath that seemed caught just beyond his reach, he stared out the window. Clear skies filled with stars did not help to soothe his mind. Where he had experienced many dreams he could not recall upon waking and had others that only left him confused and with an aching heart for no reason, this one was both clear and so dreadfully real.

            Try as he might, the nightmare ate at him. He could not figure out what the images meant, what the words whispered into his ears implied, what he was supposed to do. Of course there were the familiar sensations lingering. The pain of seeing the demon hunter again, the inexplicable pain in his heart of having her in the most sinful of ways only to loose her, the horror of witnessing angels and demons falling, the longing for his fallen friend and comrade in arms.

            Yet although he could define those feelings, the reasons why yet escaped him. While it was true she had proven herself a closer friend than the one whom had betrayed him, that first phantom dream he remembered with her words still haunted him. He felt he should know what the dreams meant. But all he knew was they mystified him. This latest one however was nothing short of nightmare. And it left all the prior inexplicable feelings along with another: fear. Kormac felt that something was coming, and that it was connected to the fallen hunter.

            When he finally pulled out of his thoughts, the fire had died, the lanterns were dim with lack of oil, and the last songs of birds greeting the dawn were beginning to fade away. Surprised at the amount of time that had passed, the templar rose and began to clean himself off and get dressed. He opened the door with intent to go to breakfast, only to halt when a familiar face was revealed behind it. Kormac's surprise was mirrored by Tyrael's own as the former angel lowered the hand that had been ready to knock.

            "Tyrael! You're back!" Kormac broke into an enthusiastic grin even as his mind supplied dream images. "How have you been?"

            "I've been...better," the Aspect of Wisdom replied as he freed himself from the templar's rather uncharacteristic embrace. "I am sorry to say that you look like Hell, Kormac."

            "Ah, just...some bad dreams. I've had some minor problems sleeping as of late."

            Tyrael nodded once, although his gaze made Kormac fidget a little. It was too...understanding, as if the immortal knew something all too well.

            "That I understand completely. Which is actually why I've returned. I need your help."

            Kormac's grin vanished as he swallowed hard. Suddenly, that lump of ice in his stomach grew a whole lot larger.


End file.
